


A Soul for Every Star

by braingunk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon Compliant, Enochian, Episode: s05e04 The End, Episode: s05e08 Changing Channels, Episode: s05e13 The Song Remains the Same, First Kiss, I didn't mean to make it angsty it just kinda happened, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M.F.E.O., M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Progressively Becomes Less Canon Compliant, Putting Canon In a Blender, Season/Series 05, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2019-09-06 13:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 36,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16833619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braingunk/pseuds/braingunk
Summary: Like most people, Dean and Sam's soulmarks had appeared on their fifteenth birthdays. Unlike most people, however, their soulmarks aren't in any human language and have everything to do with the end of the world.(A season 5 re-write in which the true vessels have their respective archangels' names on their arms.)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to asfes! So far this first part is about 70% complete, with 17 chapters and 40k being my guess of the final thing. The rest (and the second part) have also been planned, so expect that eventually! A huge thanks to my wonderful beta Kaye, because without her this fic just wouldn’t have happened. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Because this is the longest thing I've ever worked on (so far), I wanted to include some fun facts about the writing process across the last 9 months (and beyond...)  
> Fun Fic Fact no.1 : The idea for this fic came to me in a book store about three years ago and just refused to leave my brain, despite my terrible memory.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Had I as many souls as there be stars I'd give them all for Mephistopheles."  
> \- Doctor Faustus

On the night before his fifteenth birthday, Dean Winchester doesn’t sleep. Just like any other kid, he knows that when he turns fifteen, his soulmark will appear - the name of the person he’s meant to spend him life with. He lies there, his head racing with ideas over who it could be. He wonders, his stomach lurching oddly, whether his soulmate would be a girl or a boy. Then, he thinks about his dad’s soulmark, the name _Mary Campbell_ written in scrawling letters. He thinks about how the name had faded after the fire, still visible but not as clear, like a stain that won’t quite wash off. He thinks about how when some people get their marks, they have already faded, just like his dad’s. Dean thinks and thinks, staring up at the motel room ceiling, until he feels a prickling sensation creep up his left forearm like the worst case of pins and needles he’s ever felt. He bites his lip so hard it bleeds.

When it feels like it’s over, Dean stumbles up, moving towards the tiny desk at the foot of the bed as quickly as he can whilst still being quiet enough not to disturb Sam sleeping on the other side of the room. He fumbles with the switch for the lamp on the desk, his hands shaking slightly. He clicks the light on.

Dean stares at the mark on his forearm uncomprehendingly. It doesn’t make sense. It _literally_ doesn’t make sense. The letters are like nothing he’s ever seen before, a jumble of symbols that he doesn’t even know how to begin decoding.

“Is it there?” Dean’s head jerks up at the sound of Sam’s voice. Dean looks over at his sleepy-eyed brother and nods, feeling like there’s a lump in his throat. Sam grins, his eyes widening as he becomes more awake in his excitement. “What does it say?” He asks eagerly, clambering out of bed and hurrying over to Dean. When he sees Dean’s arm his smile dims, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“I don’t know Sammy.”

Later that day, when John sees the mark on his son’s arm, he splashes Dean’s face with holy water. As it hits his face, Dean flinches. Seeing that Dean isn’t possessed doesn’t lighten the thunderous look on John’s face. Sam watches from across the room helplessly as John pulls his eldest son across the room by the scruff of his shirt. Dean moves stiffly, a part of him desperately wanting to explain to his dad that he’s not a demon or a shapeshifter or _anything_ supernatural. But he doesn’t speak. He can’t. 

When John can’t find anything to indicate his son is anything less than human, he stares Dean straight in the eye for what feels like a very long time. “Don’t do anything stupid, Dean,” he says. He turns to leave, and pauses in the doorway. “Happy birthday, kid.” It’s so quiet Dean is almost sure he’s imagined it. Then John is gone, no doubt off to the bar so that he doesn’t have to think about his son’s inexplicable, inhuman soulmark. Or anything else at all.

The respite is brief though, and within a few of hours John returns, voice raised and words slightly slurred. He tells them they’re going straight to Bobby’s and that they have fifteen minutes to clear out. Dean looks at his father, and despite the fact that he really, _really_ doesn’t want to speak to him, he can’t help but worry that John is a little too drunk to drive. So he asks, quietly, if they could wait until tomorrow to leave. He gets a fist to the face for his troubles.

Four years later, Sam turns fifteen. They’re in a different motel in a different state, but his mark appears with the same prickling sensation and the same strange, unknowable alphabet as his brother’s. He and Dean stare at it together, and Sam feels his heart drop like a stone. He feels his eyes prickle as tears of frustration threaten to fall. Because of course, he can’t even have a normal soulmark. As Sam stares at it, at the unknown language branded into his arm, he knows exactly what it means: he’s just as much of a freak as he’d always thought he was.

Dean looks at his younger brother’s face and sees his expression flicker between angry and ashamed and disappointed. He can almost hear the thoughts in Sam’s head. “We’ll figure it out Sammy.” Dean says as he lifts his left forearm and holds it out besides Sam’s. They both look at the strange black symbols, at the indecipherable language that has to mean _something._ “We’ll figure them both out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I'm on tumblr as @tallsadsam so feel free to message me there (before the website implodes...)


	2. Chapter One

By the time the world begins to end, neither of the Winchester brothers feel any closer to discovering what their soulmarks mean. The identities of their soulmates are, understandably, the last thing on their minds.

Until suddenly, they’re not. 

In search of Cas, they end up in Chuck’s (incredibly bloodstained) living room. The prophet tells them there’s good news and bad news: Cas is dead - having literally exploded at the hands of an archangel when he and Dean had tried to find Sam before the final seal was broken. But hey, on plus side, there’s a sword somewhere out there that they can use to kill the Devil. Before Chuck can tell them where the sword might be - or they can even attempt to adjust to the idea that Cas is dead - they’re interrupted by Zachariah. The angel sneers at them and takes great pleasure in reminding Sam that the apocalypse is his fault before he’s all business, telling (and definitely not asking) Dean to come with them. 

Dean glares at the angel, putting as much venom into his words as he can when he responds, “After what you did, I don't want jack squat from you!” Zachariah’s grin falls, shifting into an expression that’s tiptoeing on the line between offended and wrathful.

“You listen to me, boy! You think you can rebel against us? As Lucifer did?” He steps closer, the other angels watching from behind him. There’s a pause, and he looks down at the drops of red that are falling from Dean’s hand onto the carpet. “You're bleeding,” He says, staring at the blood seeping from in between the fingers of Dean’s clenched fist. Dean’s face twists into a vicious grin.

“Oh, yeah - a little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up.” He then politely continues to tell Zachariah that he’s a two-faced douche, and that no, he will not be going with them. The whole room floods with light as he slams his hand down onto the angel banishing sigil he had quietly drawn whilst Zachariah was talking.

“Learned that from my friend Cas, you son of a bitch.” Dean spits, still silently reeling at the knowledge that Cas is dead. He turns away from the spot where Zachariah had stood, shoving down thoughts of Cas and the odd, slightly hollow feeling in his chest. 

Once more, he and Sam are left alone with Chuck. The Michael Sword is in a castle of forty two dogs, Chuck tells them, sounding apologetic for how cryptic it is even as he says it. 

So the two of them go to Bobby’s place and search for any lore they can find, Dean feeling like he’s  _ this _ close to remembering something important the whole time. It isn’t until he’s flicking through his dad’s journal that it hits him: Castle Storage, 42 Rover Hill. Then they’re driving to John’s old lock up, each brother feeling quietly hopeful that they can do this, they can find the sword and end the apocalypse before people start dying.

When they arrive, Zachariah stands in front of the brothers, looking around the lock-up with an amused sneer on his face. Sam can’t help but think that he looks decidedly more like a smug cat than an angel. “We did lose the Michael sword. We truly couldn’t find it.” He smirks at them. “Until now. You’ve just hand-delivered it to us.” Sam and Dean share a quick glance, each wearing identical confused frowns. 

“We don’t have anything,” Dean growls. Zachariah blinks once, a disbelieving expression on his face as if he can’t believe that Sam and Dean haven’t figured it out yet. Dean is filled with an even stronger desire than usual to punch him in the face.    


“It’s you, chucklehead.” Zachariah says it slowly, as if he’s speaking to a child. “You’re the Michael sword.” When he sees that both Sam and Dean seem to have frozen, he sneers, cocking his head to the side. “What, you thought you could actually kill Lucifer?” He sneers, turning towards Dean. “No. You're just a human. And not much of one.”    


“What do you mean ‘I’m the sword’?” Dean says through gritted teeth, clenching his fists. Sam glances between the angel and his brother nervously. 

“You’re Michael’s weapon - well, receptacle, if you will.” Realisation dawns on Dean’s face, and Zachariah nods, a vicious smile twisting on his face. “You’re  _ the  _ vessel, Dean. Michael’s vessel.” Dean shakes his head.

“How - why me?” He says, feeling sick to his core at the idea of some angelic douchebag wearing him as a skin suit. Zachariah waves his arm and Dean feels his body being dragged by some unseen force towards the angel. Sam jerks forwards to grab his brother but abruptly freezes, unable to move. With a flick of Zachariah’s wrist, Dean feels the left sleeve of his jacket move, bunching up at his elbow. Every pair of eyes in the room fall on Dean’s soulmark.

“Because you’re chosen! It says it right there on your own skin.” Dean stops breathing. For a moment, everything is perfectly still. “It’s a great honour, Dean. You should be grateful,” Zachariah says, flicking his wrist once more. 

Dean goes limp, dropping to the floor and just barely remembering to steady himself so he can stand up. At the sudden jolt, Dean snaps out of his daze. 

“Oh yeah,” he says shakily. “Life as an angel condom, that’s real fun. I think I’ll pass, thanks.” Dean moves back a couple of steps and feels Sam’s arm grab his shoulder to steady him, his legs still not completely working. Zachariah laughs flatly, looking at Dean with pure malice in his eyes. 

“Always joking. Well, no more jokes.” Zachariah turns to face Sam, who suddenly finds himself on the ground, pain shooting up his leg. Sam grips his knee so hard his knuckles turn white, cursing through gritted teeth. Dean turns to Sam, horrified, kneeling beside his brother. Zachariah looks back to Dean, and his previous sneer is completely gone. “I am completely done screwing around. The war has begun, and we need our general. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the adversary, as was written.” 

Dean glances from between Sam and the angel. “There’s a reason you’re telling me this instead of just nabbing me,” He says slowly, realisation dawning on his face. Zachariah’s face turns cold. “You need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin. Well, the answer’s no. I don’t care what you want or what this stupid mark says.” He tries to sound firm, desperately trying to ignore Sam’s strained breathing. 

“Unfortunately, yes. There  _ will _ be a battle. Michael must defeat the serpent,” Zachariah says, and Dean shakes his head.

“The answer’s no,” Dean says as firmly as he can.

“Ok, how’s about this,” Zachariah says, the malice in his voice ringing in Dean’s ears as he suddenly finds himself crumpling to the floor. “Say yes, and we’ll heal you from stage four cancer.” 

“No.” Dean coughs, spitting out a mouthful of blood. 

“Ok, then let’s get really creative… How would Sam do without his lungs?” Dean lurches around to his brother in horror, who’s now lying completely on the ground, frantically attempting to gasp air into the lungs he now doesn’t have, his eyes wild and frightened. Dean desperately wants to help his brother, but he can’t bring himself to say yes. He glances at his left arm for a moment, soulmark still visible. 

“Just kill us,” he gasps out, looking up at Zachariah through watering eyes, just barely able to make out the way that the angel is looking down at him like Dean’s something he’s just stepped in. 

“Kill you? Oh no, I’m just getting started. You’re going to say yes, you simpering wad of self-loathing. How are  _ you _ going to fight off a destiny that was prophesied longer ago than you can comprehend, a destiny that’s written on your own skin?” Zachariah spits, and when Dean tries to respond, all that happens is that more blood comes out of his mouth. By now, Dean can barely see anything, distantly aware that Sam is barely moving, and despite Zachariah’s threats Dean really thinks that they both really might die here. But he barely has any time to contemplate that thought, as moments later, the blurry room fills with a white light that’s so bright it burns.

Everything goes black for a while. 

Dean blinks once, and he’s upright, and staring directly at Castiel. Beside him, Sam is gasping in deep, desperate lungfuls of air.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean can’t help but sigh of relief. He turns to Sam who smiles weakly back, his breathing coming back to normal. “You need to be more careful,” Cas’ voice is flat, and Dean can’t help but get the impression he’s being scolded. He feels a swell of affection towards the angel.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Dean responds weakly. “Your frat brothers are bigger dicks than I thought.” Sam lets out a huff of laughter, and Castiel looks at him for a moment before turning back to Dean. 

“I don’t mean the angels. Lucifer is circling his vessel, and once he takes it you’ll need more than a couple of hex bags to protect you.” Castiel reaches out, placing his palm at the centre of Dean’s chest, reaching out to do the same for Sam. The brothers stagger back abruptly, feeling like the air has been knocked out of them. Dean stumbles a little, and Castiel catches him with one arm. 

“What the hell was that?” Dean gasps.

“An enochian sigil that’ll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer. I branded it into your ribs.” Dean stares at the angel in disbelief for a moment. Cas stares back, his face entirely neutral, as if branding sigils into people’s ribs without any warning is a day to day occurrence for him. 

“Hey, Cas?” Sam says, “Were you really dead?” The angel turns his head slowly and regards Sam for a moment. The room is utterly silent.

“Yes.” Cas’ face is utterly unreadable.   
  
“Then how are you back?” Dean asks quietly, but as soon as he blinks, Cas is gone. 

“Dean,” Sam starts, his eyes trained on Dean’s soulmark. Dean shakes his head.

“Not now, Sam.” He says, and begins to make his way out of the lock-up before Sam can lecture him about how they can’t just ignore this. Dean’s just nearly died, again, and if he wants to put off having a conversation about how it's his destiny to be an angel’s meat suit then damn it, he will.

Later when they’re driving in Baby to a motel, Dean carefully doesn’t look at Sam in the shotgun seat, staring at his own left sleeve. Because, Dean thinks, if there’s one thing that seems more awful than having an angel wearing his skin, controlling his body, it’s the thought that his baby brother might be resigned to the same fate. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fic fact 2: I read sections of this fic out loud to my cat in a terrible american accent (I'm british). She did not approve.


	3. Chapter Two

Sam stares at the motel wallpaper, faintly blue in the moonlight that’s streaming in from the window. A spring in the bed digs into his side, so he shifts and rolls over. Jess lays beside him, as she often does when he dreams. The moonlight forms a halo over her head. Lips twitching into a sad smile, he reaches over and presses a gentle kiss to her neck. She lets out a breath and rolls over to face him.

“Running away again, Sam?” Sam glances away.

“No. It’s different now,” he says, not even sure if he’s convincing himself, let alone Jess. She reaches out and rests a gentle hand on his cheek. Sam leans into the touch, a smile twitching at his lips at the feeling of her palm against his cheek, colder than he remembers, but still warm. Still living. It somehow feels sweeter than it ever did back when the two of them were at Stanford. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Sam thinks to himself.

“Don’t you get it? You can’t run away from yourself.” As she speaks, she searches for his eyes, trying to get him to look at her. Sam shakes his head, shutting his eyes. 

“I’m different now. I won’t make the same mistake again,” he says, pulling away from her hand. She lets it fall.

“Things are never gonna change with you. Sooner or later the past is gonna catch up with you, like it always does. You know what happens then?” She implores softly. Her voice is free of accusation but Sam finds himself turning away from her regardless, a feeling of shame settling in his heart. “The people closest to you die, baby.” Sam draws in a shaky breath, unable to look at her.

“I love you Jess. God knows I miss you,” he begins, closing his eyes for a moment as he feels her place a hand on her shoulder. “But you’re wrong - people can change. There is reason for hope.”

“No, Sam. There isn’t.” Sam hears Jess’ voice from behind him.

“How can you be sure?” He says, not wanting to believe her.

“Because you freed me.” At the sound of those words, spoken in that same hushed tone, Sam feels his whole body still. Because although the tone was the same, it wasn’t Jess’ voice that spoke. The whole room suddenly feels colder, and Sam slowly turns his head to look over his shoulder.

A man looks back at him from where Jess sat before. Sam stands up, and without taking his eyes off of the man in front of him, retreats until he feels the dresser pressing into his back. The man makes no move to follow. With cropped hair, stubble and plain clothes, he looks almost unassuming. Except for in the eyes. The man stares up at Sam through blue eyes, with an expression that is somehow sad and empathetic and very, _very_ old all at once.

“You know who I am,” the man says in a quiet voice. And Sam does. He’s never seen the man’s face before, but something inside of him knows him. It always has.

“Lucifer,” he whispers, because there’s a lump in his throat that won’t let him speak any louder. The man - the _Devil_ \- gives a slow nod of assent.

“You are a hard one to find, Sam. Harder than most humans,” the Devil says, as if mildly perplexed. Distantly, Sam thinks of the sigil Castiel had carved into his and Dean’s ribs, suddenly grateful that there was something keeping the Devil from finding him. 

“What do you want with me?” Sam finds himself asking, despite really not wanting to hear the answer. The Devil cocks his head to the side slightly, considering Sam carefully.

“Thanks to you, I walk the Earth,” he says thankfully, but all Sam feels is a sharp pang of guilt. Lucifer gives him a soft smile. “I want to give you a gift. I want to give you everything.” And somehow, Sam can tell that Lucifer has the power to make good on that promise. And, perhaps more unsettlingly, he knows that Lucifer truly _wants_ to give him this impossible gift. Sam shakes his head, hostility rising in him.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he spits. Lucifer just looks up at him, unfazed by the venom in Sam’s voice. He has the same sad expression on his face that Jess had when she was looking at him.

“I’m sorry Sam, I really am,” he says remorsefully, and despite his anger, Sam has to take a moment to process that the Devil is apologising to him. “But Nick here is just an improvisation. He can barely hold me without spontaneously combusting.” Lucifer gestures to his body - his _vessel’s_ body - as he speaks, as if he’s talking about a poorly fitting item of clothing. It makes Sam’s skin crawl.

“What are you talking about?” He says. Lucifer stands up, and slowly walks a couple of paces towards Sam, who presses his back further into the dresser behind him. Lucifer pauses.

“Why do you think you were in that chapel?” Lucifer asks. “You’re the one, Sam,” Lucifer says, almost reverently. “You’re my vessel. My true vessel,” he continues, reaching out for Sam’s arm. He jerks it back, out of Lucifer’s reach. Lucifer raises his palms, as one might do to a spooked animal, and slowly starts reaching out again. A cold hand touches Sam’s left arm and he flinches, not from the cold, but from the creeping sensation of comprehension he feels at the contact. Finally, he understands why the Devil is here, and he doesn’t feel able to move as an unnaturally cold - but ever so gentle - hand turns his arm over.

Sam stares at his soulmark, suddenly feeling like he’s fifteen again and just seeing it for the first time. The same sensations of anger-shame-disappointment all swirl in his gut, even stronger now, because now he understands, he’s not just a freak, he’s a freak that only deserves to be with the Devil. The thought crushes him, and Sam feels so overwhelmed that he doesn’t even notice the soft hitch in Lucifer’s throat when he sees his name on Sam’s arm, or the way his eyes shine hopefully for just a moment.

After a long, silent moment, Sam comes back to himself and yanks his arm out of Lucifer’s hands.

“No,” Sam says quietly. He desperately to shout but his throat feels tight and he can’t speak any louder. “That’ll never happen.”

“I’m sorry. But it will,” Lucifer says without a hint of doubt in his voice. “I will find you, and when I do, you will let me in. I’m sure of it.”

And although Sam desperately doesn’t want to, he can’t help but think that the Devil truly believes what he’s saying. The thought only makes him angrier.

“You need my consent,” he spits, a small, bitter smile twitching at the corners of his lips. Lucifer is still for a second, and Sam revels in his small victory over the Devil. Lucifer crosses his arms, looking almost insulted. 

“Of course, I am an angel,” he says, seeming vaguely affronted at the suggestion. Something a little like relief rushes through Sam, followed by a burst of adrenaline as he realises what this means.

“I will kill myself before letting you in,” he says in what he hopes is a certain tone. Lucifer looks to the side, then up - is he rolling his eyes at Sam?

“I’ll just bring you back,” Lucifer says, as if he’s talking to a child throwing a tantrum; like Sam ending his own life would be something easy to fix. The sense of victory and relief drains out of Sam. Lucifer looks at Sam again and sighs in an oddly human way. He surveys Sam, his eyes softening. “My heart breaks for you, Sam. The weight on your shoulders, what you’ve done, what you still have to do. If there was some other way… But there isn’t.” The Devil trails off, sounding impossibly genuine and looking impossibly sad. His eyes move from Sam’s face to the mark on his arm. Sam pulls his arm behind his back, and Lucifer’s eyes flick up to meet his again. After a moment, he slowly begins to walk towards Sam again.

“I will never lie to you. I will never trick you. If you call for me, I will find you,” Lucifer says, with such a quiet intensity that, if it was anyone except the literal Prince of Lies, Sam would probably believe him. “But you will say yes to me.” And this too is said with such certainty Sam almost believes him. But Sam is stubborn, and the thought of the Devil wearing him as a meatsuit makes his skin prickle in a way he can’t quite describe. He can’t let himself believe what Lucifer wants him to.

“You’re wrong,” he says with all the fierceness he can muster.

“I’m not,” Lucifer replies, clearly unaffected by Sam’s words. He tips his head to the side slightly. “I think I know you better than you know yourself,” he muses thoughtfully, and the idea of it makes Sam’s stomach lurch uncomfortably. Lucifer’s still staring at him in such a way that Sam almost feels like he can see right through him. Sam glances away, around the room, before coming to rest on a spot of carpet. For a moment, they’re both silent.

“Why me?” Sam asks, his voice barely a whisper. He doesn’t know what else to say, because all he can think of is why any of this has to happen to him. His whole life, he’s been a freak, always feeling slightly out of place, even when he’s happy, and he doesn’t understand why. He’s had the Devil’s name on his arm, destined to be his meatsuit since the age of fifteen, and he doesn’t understand why. He asks ‘why me’, because he can’t bring himself to ask what he did so wrong to deserve this.

“Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you.” Lucifer says.

When Sam glances up, Lucifer is gone, and he’s left alone in the dim motel room with his thoughts until morning.

Sam wakes up slowly, feeling notably worse than he did before he’d gone to bed, which is saying a lot, seeing as he’d nearly died the previous day. His limbs feel like lead and his face feels faintly crusty - he’s been crying in his sleep. A bitter laugh bubbles out of Sam’s chest. When did his life get so fucked up? He glances over at the clock beside his bed - it’s ten already, but he figures that seeing how shitty the previous day (and night, for that matter) have been, he’s earnt a lay-in. He rolls over and tries very hard not to let his eyes drift to the mark on his arm. Of course, they do anyway, and he feels his heart sink every time he looks at the Devil’s name on his skin.

He’s still lying there a few hours later when Dean knocks on the door to his room. Sam doesn’t answer, but Dean lets himself in anyway.

“Sammy?” Dean calls, looking around the room before spotting Sam lying in the bed. “You okay? You look like Hell.” Sam’s face twists into a grim version of a smile. He sits up slowly, and Dean sees his eyes are faintly red.

“Yeah, that figures,” Sam says, his voice sounding raw. Dean frowns at him in that look that’s both confused and worried he gets when he knows something’s wrong. “I just met the Devil. He showed up last night whilst I was dreaming.”

“The Devil showed up in your _dreams_?” Dean says, his lips twitch into a smirk. It doesn’t reach his eyes. Sam looks away. For a long moment, they’re both silent as Sam tries to collect himself. His eyes come to rest on his mark again, and he squeezes them shut. He takes a breath.

“He told me that this,” he holds out his arm, waving his mark in Dean’s face, “is his name. I’m Lucifer’s vessel.” Dean’s whole body goes stiff. Sam can’t look him in the eye, feeling guilty for his mark even though he knows logically it’s not his fault - you can’t pick soulmates, after all. Sam just happened to get stuck with the fucking Devil.

“Lucifer’s vessel?” Dean asks slowly trying very hard to keep his voice level despite the fact he wants to yell. “The Devil wants to wear you to prom?” Sam gives him a jerky nod and stands up, the frustration he feels winning out over his shame.

“What are we gonna do about it?” He asks. Dean gives him a look, but Sam cuts his brother off before he can speak. “I mean it. I am not gonna be a puppet to these sons of bitches any longer. I’m gonna hunt him down, Dean.” As he speaks, Sam feels himself gaining confidence in what he’s saying. He’s so fucking done with angels and demons and the apocalypse ruining his life.

“Oh, so, we're back to revenge, then, are we?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, because that worked out so well last time.” And hearing Dean say it hurts because it’s true, and Sam knows that. Even so, he can’t help but feel defensive.

“Not revenge. Redemption,” he snaps back, and Dean rolls his eyes. Sam pauses for a moment and tries to reign his temper in. “Look, Dean, I can do this. I’m gonna prove it to you.”

Dean lets out a shaky breath. He’s afraid. He’s afraid for the fate of the whole world, that whatever insane plan Sam’s concocted might get him killed - or worse. And he’s terrified of what their soulmarks mean. The thought of the Devil wearing his brother’s skin makes Dean feel nauseous, in a way that’s even worse than the idea of Michael doing the same thing to him. He tries desperately to think of a way to avoid the whole damn thing, a way to stop Michael and Lucifer from wearing their skins and using them to wipe each other and half the planet out.

“Look, Sam, it doesn't matter whatever we do. I mean, you and I, we're the fire and the oil of the Armageddon.” When Dean speaks, Sam looks at his brother. He looks _tired_. “You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good.” Sam’s heart feels like it falls in his chest. Dean words it as a suggestion, but his voice has such a tone of finality that Sam really can’t imagine how they’re going to move forward after this conversation in any other way but divided.

Sam shakes his head as he speaks - _pleads_ \- to his brother, “Dean, it doesn’t have to be like this - we can fight it.” Dean’s lips quirk into a bitter smile.

“You're right. We can. But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam, we're weaker. Because whatever love, family, we have between us? They’re always gonna use it against us. And you know that.” Dean tries to stay impassive as he says it, but he can’t quite meet Sam’s eyes. Leaving his brother is the last thing Dean wants, but there’s no other way. “We're better off apart. We’ve got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing, if we just go our own ways.”

“Dean, don't do this,” Sam pleads as Dean turns away, unable to look his baby brother in the eye. It kills him to see Sam so upset - especially when he knows that it’s his own fault. But he has to stay strong. He doesn’t want to leave his brother, but when the fate of the world is literally at stake, Dean doesn’t feel like he really has a choice.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he says, turning to leave before Sam can say anything else. He doesn’t want to face his brother.

When Sam emerges from his room some time later, he sees Dean packing the last of his things into the Impala. Dean avoids his gaze. They’re both silent for a while, the only sound cars rushing by in the distance followed by the thump of the impala’s trunk as Dean closes it.  
  
After a moment, Sam asks, “So this is it? We’re just gonna go our separate ways and hope that we can avoid the end of the world?”

“We’re not avoiding it,” Dean says, “We’re gonna stop this, Sam. Somehow. Just not together.” Dean rubs the heels of his palms into his hands. He looks as tired as Sam feels.

“Take care of yourself,” Sam says quietly. Dean pauses. He looks at Sam, jaw working like it does when he’s thinking carefully about something. Then he’s walking over to his brother, and the next thing Sam knows he’s being pulled into a hug. Dean thumps him hard on the back. “Jerk,” Sam says, his smile just a little strained.

“Bitch,” Dean shoots back as he pulls away. He climbs into Baby, before he decides to go back and do anything even sappy. As he drives away, he tries not to look in the mirror at his brother, standing in the motel car park with a bag slung over his shoulder watching him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fic facts no.3: The working title of this fic was "SoulHATE au" until my beta and I came up with a title based on a doctor faustus quote (which I just now put at the beginning of the prologue because I forgot whoops).
> 
> Thank you again for reading!


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tweaked something in the last chapter btw - not much, I just added something to Lucifer's promise to Sam, that he'd come when Sam called for him. It'll be relevant later. Also, I'm posting this at midnight because I got carried away working on other stuff and then suddenly remembered I hadn't posted this yet.

Dean drives and drives until he reaches St. Martin’s hospital. When he enters without Sam, Bobby fixes him with a withering glare from where he’s lying in bed. 

“We had to split, Bobby,” Dean protests. “When Sam and I stick together, we’re weak. We can’t afford that when the world’s about to end.” Bobby snorts, shooting Dean a glare. 

“You’re ‘weak together’? Oh, give me a break,” Bobby says, “Look at me Dean - do I look like I give a shit about you and your brother’s perpetual goddamned soap opera?” 

“We’re Michael and Lucifer’s vessels, Bobby,” Dean cuts in, and Bobby freezes. “Vessels as in their skin suits for the apocalypse.” Then, taking a deep breath, he begins to roll up his left sleeve. 

Bobby knows what Sam and Dean’s soulmarks look like, of course. He was the first person John had called when Dean’s mark had first appeared. They’d driven up to Bobby’s house without anyone muttering a single word, Dean nursing a busted lip and Sam sitting next to him in the rear of the car, eyes darting back and forth between his brother and father. When they arrived, John had shoved Dean towards Bobby and walked straight back outside, no doubt off for another drink. Bobby hadn’t even looked at the mark at first, just taken in Dean’s lip, the wound only a few hours fresh. Neither Sam nor Dean had offered an explanation, but the thunderous look that had been on John’s face was enough for Bobby to understand what had happened. When the door slammed shut behind John, both boys flinched. A surge of protectiveness came over Bobby, and in that moment he didn’t care what the mark said. He pulled both boys into a hug.

“Happy Birthday, Dean,” he’d said. Dean had buried his face in Bobby’s shoulder, feeling Sam’s small arms hugging him too. They stood there for several minutes in total silence, and if Dean’s eyes were red once they’d pulled apart, neither Bobby nor Sam commented. 

The hospital room is totally silent now too, and Bobby’s face turns from confusion to understanding to pity in quick succession as he stares at Dean’s soulmark. 

Dean avoids looking at him, instead focusing on rolling his sleeve back down as he speaks. “Sam and I agreed that it would be safer if we stayed away from each other. For everyone.” And God, he really does mean  _ everyone _ , doesn’t he? Dean can feel a lump in his throat forming. Right now, he wants nothing more than to get out of this conversation. 

He’s spared having to think of an excuse by the sudden shrill of Bobby’s phone. Bobby picks it up, looking as relieved for a distraction as Dean feels. 

“Hello?” he says, his face turning from relieved to tense again. There’s a long pause. “Where are you? ... Colorado? River Pass, Colorado? Rufus? You there?” Bobby curses and hangs up the phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

“It’s Rufus - says he’s up to his ass in demons - the whole damn town's been infested,” Bobby says, brows furrowing into a worried frown. 

“I’ll go,” Dean says. He may not be close to Rufus, but he’s one of Bobby’s oldest friends and a good man. That, and a whole town overrun by demons sounds suspiciously like a sign of the apocalypse. Bobby nods gratefully, but there’s a glimmer of frustration in his eyes. Dean knows he’d like nothing more than to get up and come too. He shoves that thought to the back of his mind for now. He’ll have to ask Cas to heal Bobby as soon as he gets the chance. He shoots Bobby a stiff smile and turns to leave, feeling awful for having just dropped such a bombshell and just walking out again. 

“Take care of yourself, Dean,” Bobby says quietly, a note of worry audible of his voice. Dean pauses in the doorway and glances back over his shoulder. Bobby clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with his own genuineness. “If you get yourself killed, I’ll kick your ass - even if I have to wait months to heal up enough to do it,” he continues gruffly. Dean lets out a laugh, and he smiles -  _ genuinely _ smiles this time. There’s still a worried look in the older man’s eyes, but Dean can make out the laugh lines on his face. 

“Bye, Bobby,” Dean says, then turns and starts jogging towards the nearest exit.

The first thing Dean notices (after working his way across the wreckage of the only bridge in and out of River Pass) is that the town completely still and silent, as if its inhabitants had all dropped everything and left in a hurry. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as he sees the state of the cars on the road, strewn about like a child’s toys - left completely abandoned. In one of them, the engine is even still running. He moves slowly down the street, his gun raised as he looks around. There’s still no sign of anyone, human or demon. He moves further into the town, taking in the Pioneer Day decorations, a gorgeous red ferrari and loose cables hanging from buildings, buzzing dangerously.

Behind him, there’s a quiet click of a gun. Dean spins around, raising his gun. He stares at the barrel currently pointed at his face for a split second before he realises who’s holding it. 

“Ellen?” he asks, lowering his gun just a little. “What the hell’s going on-” He finds himself cut off by something cold splashing onto his face. He spits a little of the holy water out of his mouth, and gives her a look. It’s only then that she lowers her gun. She jerks her head, pushing past Dean and heading towards the church at the centre of the town. He quietly follows after her, checking over his shoulder every now and then. It’s because he doesn’t want to get caught off guard twice, he tells himself. It has nothing to do with the fact that Sam isn’t there to watch his back for him. 

Ellen leads him into the church, carefully stepping over the line of salt and Devil’s Trap that frame the doorway. Dean closes the door behind him, and as soon as the latch clicks, he finds himself being pulled into a hug.

“I’m real glad to see you, Dean,” Ellen murmurs before pulling back to study his face for a moment. But before he can respond, he finds himself hit in the face by something for the second time today. Except this time it’s not just holy water, but the palm of Ellen’s hand. Dean lets out a decidedly unmanly sound that Ellen ignores entirely. “The can of whoopass I ought to open on you… Can't you pick up a damn phone? What are you, allergic to giving me peace of mind? I had to find out you were alive from  _ Rufus _ ,” she snaps, and Dean ducks his head in shame. 

“Sorry Ellen,” he mutters guilty, because yeah, he’s pretty sure he deserved that.

“Why isn’t Sam with you? Rufus said he was…” she trails off, not wanting to finish. Dean’s not sure how much she (or Rufus, for that matter) knows about the demon blood, and he really doesn’t want to bring it up right now. Or Michael. Or the Devil. Or the fact that it’s his and Sam’s fault the apocalypse is happening.

“Sam’s fine,” he replies. “We’re just working separately for now. We can cover more ground this way, and we need to cover as much ground as we can given that the world’s pretty much in in the toilet right now.” Ellen nods in understanding, but she gives him a suspicious glance. It’s not strictly a  _ lie _ , except by omission. But even as he says it, Dean doesn’t feel like he’s convinced himself, let alone Ellen, that his spilt up with Sam was purely tactical. The look on Ellen’s face makes it clear she isn’t fooled for a second. There’s something he’s not telling her, and the look on her face says that once this demon problem is sorted, they’re going to have a long conversation about it. 

“Is it just me or does feel like end times?” She asks. “It’s got to be. The whole world’s going to Hell - I mean, just in this one town, demons have infested pretty much everyone besides the dead people and everyone in here.” She gestures to a wooden door at the bottom of the staircase

“Seems like it,” he says, fighting the sudden urge to rub his left forearm. 

River Pass was a small town, but the number of survivors huddled in the basement is far,  _ far _ too small for Dean’s liking. As he enters the room behind Ellen, only ten pairs of scared eyes turned to him. 

“All right, fill me in,” he says. Ellen lets out a weary sigh, sitting down at the rickety table beside a heavily pregnant woman whose husband places a protective arm around her as Dean enters the room. Dean smiles at the woman reassuringly and offers her husband a nod. 

“I doubt I know much more than you,” she begins. “Rufus called, said he was in town investigating omens. All of a sudden, the whole town’s possessed. Jo and I were nearby so-”

“Wait, you're hunting with Jo?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. Ellen’s mouth quirks into a fleeting smile.

“Yeah, for a while now. But by the time we got here, the place was like you see it - couldn’t even find Rufus,” she pauses for a moment before continuing. “Then Jo and I got seperated. I was out looking for her when I found you.” Ellen doesn’t _ frown  _ when she says Jo is missing, but her lips purse and the muscles in her jaw work. She’s tense and worried and probably feels responsible not just for Jo, but the lives of the ten survivors who are huddled in the basement with them. 

“We'll find her,” Dean tells her. Ellen looks at him gratefully, and the tension in her face loosens just a little. “For now, we should just focus on getting these people out of here.”

Between the two of them, they hatch a plan to gather as many guns and as much salt as possible so that the other survivors will have a chance at defending themselves. Hopefully, they’ll find Jo and Rufus as well, but if not, then they’ll help the others escape before doubling back.

Their supply run goes fairly well (with the exception of a narrow miss with a pair of demons in the convenience store) until they stumble across what must be the demons’ base of operations. It’s a large house on the edge of town, which would be entirely unassuming if it wasn’t for the smoke rising out of the chimney. They don’t have long to ponder the mystery of what demons need fire for though, because Dean finds himself getting snuck up on for the second time that day.

“Don’t move, you evil skank!” The black-eyed Jo hisses, forcing Ellen against the wall with her gun. Another demon slams into Dean, a man he’s never seen before with those same black empty eyes. Ellen begins to speak, both threatening and begging the demon not to hurt her daughter, but she’s soon cut off by the demon. “Give me my mom back, you black eyed bitch!” Ellen’s struggling falters for a moment. 

Dean, busy fighting against the demon holding him, doesn’t hear this exchange. He gets a kick in, and the demon buckles over. Someone fires a shot that whizzes past his head, and he turns to see Rufus - a demon possessing Rufus - holding a gun. Dean takes his chance, knocking Jo over the back of the head and grabbing Ellen’s arm. For a moment, Ellen doesn’t move, looking torn as she stares at her daughter’s prone body. Another gunshot echoes down the street, making both Ellen and Dean jump. Then they’re running back to the church as fast as they can. 

They make it back to the church more or less in one piece, but neither of them can shake the feeling that something’s off. The demons they’d encountered seemed immune to holy water and salt. That and the fact that Jo always wears an anti possession charm, Ellen points out. Nothing about the situation quite seems right, so they sit down with the town’s residents start at the beginning. 

The whole town had gone to shit, they discover, after the river had gotten polluted and a shooting star had gone past. The whole thing sounds pretty damn Biblical in Dean’s opinion, and after checking Revelations, he discovers his hunch is right. 

"And there fell a great star from heaven, burning like a torch, and it fell upon the river, and the name of the star was Wormwood. And many men died," he reads, smiling in grim satisfaction. 

“Revelation eight ten,” the Pastor supplies, frowning. “You’re saying these are omens for the apocalypse? The four horsemen?” Dean thinks hard for a long moment.

Then, he says, “Which one rides the red horse? There was this cherry Mustang parked out on Main…”

“War,” the Pastor supplies, looking perplexed. “You can’t really think that a car-” Dean shrugs. 

“Hey, if I was a horseman in the twenty first century, it’s the way I’d roll,” he replies. “If War is here, maybe he’s messing with our heads.”

“Turning us on each other,” Ellen says. “Jo called me a black-eyed bitch… They think we’re demons, we think they’re demons.” The note of relief in her voice is audible, as if she can finally breathe knowing that Jo is still alive - still human.

Dean snaps the Bible in his hands closed. “What if there are no demons at all and we’re all just killing each other?” Ellen opens her mouth to respond, but they’re interrupted by the sound of someone hammering on the door. All the guns in the room are suddenly pointed at the door, and a hush falls over all the people gathered there. 

“Open up! It’s Roger!” a voice calls, causing everybody to visibly relax. The door is opened and in runs one of the survivors Dean had seen when he’d first entered the church. “I saw them - the demons. They know we're trying to leave. They said they're gonna pick us off one by one.” He’s bent over and panting. A murmur of fear ripples through the room, and people begin looking between each other nervously. 

“Woah, woah woah,” Dean says, raising his hands in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. Roger looks up at him. “This isn’t a demon thing, okay?” Roger stands up, and something shiny catches Dean’s eye. It’s a golden ring. Roger twists it around, his back to everyone except Dean and Ellen. He shoots them a sly grin.

“Look at their eyes!” Roger -  _ War  _ \- yells in a panicked voice. “They’re demons.” Someone gasps, and suddenly there are guns pointing at Dean and Ellen. Dean presses back against the door, fumbling for the handle. He clicks it open, grabs Ellen’s jacket and pulls her out the door. They run up the stairs just as a shot rings out and blasts through the wood of the door behind them. 

With nowhere else to go, they track down Rufus and Jo and, after dodging a few more bullets and a couple of Jo’s home-cooked bombs, tackle them to the ground.

“Rufus, think about it - the polluted water, the shooting star, the red Mustang—it's War. I'm telling you, it's War.” Dean yells, trying to hold Rufus still. “The horseman. Think about it.” Rufus stills. On the other side of the room, he can hear Ellen speaking to her daughter, desperately trying to convince her of her humanity. After a moment, Jo throws her arms around her mom. Dean looks away to give them a minute of privacy.

They emerge from the house with a plan: Rufus and Ellen are sent to talk down the townsfolk before they kill each other, whilst Jo and Dean tackle War.

They find the horseman just as he’s about to climb into his car. Between the two of them - Jo’s quick grab of his hand, pinning it against the car, followed by Dean’s deft swing of the knife - War’s ring is cut off. It would be anticlimactic if Dean weren’t so relieved that it was all over. 

He turns to Jo, and she shoots him a tired smile. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a drink,” she jokes. Dean snorts, looking back over Jo’s shoulder to where War’s car is. Was. He looks around, but there’s no sign of the horseman. Knowing that it’ll probably come back to bite him in the ass, Dean decides to leave it be. He wants that damn drink. 

Ellen corners him in the bar a few hours later and shoots him that  _ ‘we need to talk about the thing you’re avoiding’ _ look that he thought Sam had perfected over the years. It turns out, Sam’s look has nothing on Ellen’s, and Dean finds himself unable to think of a witty response as she sits beside him and says “So, you gonna tell me why Sam wasn’t with you on that hunt?” 

“Sam and I figured we’re stronger when we’re separate,” he says, staring into his glass. Ellen lets out a snort that Dean decides to ignore. “Plus, the whole county’s chockablock with all kinds of weird-ass omens. We can cover more ground this way - more people in more places means we’re more likely to discover something that can stop the damn apocalypse.” He takes another gulp of his beer, still avoiding looking Ellen in the eye. 

“You know what I think, Dean? I think you and your brother are running from something. Now, I’m not gonna sit here and tell you how to live your life…” she trails off, looking around to where Jo’s sitting further along the bar. Rufus says something, looking surly as ever, and she throws back her head as she laughs. “But whatever’s come between the two of you, I hope you can fix it, and soon.” Dean thinks about the night Zachariah had told Dean he was Michael’s vessel, and Sam sitting in the car beside him, staring at the mark on his own arm.

“Me too,” he replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fic fact no. 4: Whilst writing this chapter I googled 'which part of the gun makes the clicky noise", couldn't figure it out, and then just decided to write around it. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading! :D


	5. Chapter Four

After Dean leaves, Sam doesn’t really know where to go. He wants to stop the apocalypse, but for the time being he needs to be able to eat, sleep and charge his laptop. You can’t stop the world from ending on an empty stomach, after all. 

The bellboy position in the next town over is a simple solution (and one that doesn’t involve the credit card scams he’s always disliked so much). So he takes the job. It’s simple enough, and it offers him a sense of normalcy he hasn’t had in a long time – when he isn’t spending his spare time researching the apocalypse, that is. It’s… nice. Days pass in a blur of cleaning, carefully avoiding the news on the telly and even more carefully avoiding the questions of his co-worker, Lindsey. 

“Hey, Keith, you play?” she calls over her shoulder from where she’s standing, absentmindedly throwing darts at the board. Sam - Keith – looks over, setting down the glass he’s holding. He nods. “By the way, did you finish the crossword puzzle in the kitchen? The New York Times one?” 

“Uh, yeah. I guess,” Sam replies. He picks the glass back up again and focuses on drying it with a cloth, despite the fact that it’s already dry. Lindsey huffs, and Sam knows she’s fully aware that he’s avoiding giving her a straight answer. 

“Huh. So you blow into town last week, barely speak to anybody. You’re also clearly highly educated. You’re like this… Riddle or something, I don’t know.” Sam raises an eyebrow at her, his lips twitching into a smile. She turns back to the dartboard and nods towards it. “How’s about this - we play a game. When I win, you buy me dinner and tell me your life story.” She offers him a grin and Sam lets out a laugh. 

“Sounds fair,” he agrees. To her credit, Lindsey is pretty damn good at darts. Sam just happens to be better. He throws his three darts and each of them hits the bullseye with a satisfying thud. Lindsey whistles her approval, not really minding losing the bet. She says something about him being ‘very mysterioso’, but Sam finds his eyes being unwillingly drawn by the TV. Whilst the two of them were talking, the bartender must have switched it on. Sam stares at the screen numbly, taking in the report about freak hailstorms, lightning and wildfires. Sam’s heart sinks, and he rubs his forearm self-consciously.

Sam tries very hard not to think about the way Lucifer has spoken about the apocalypse – like it was something inevitable. 

“Is it me, or does it feel like the end of the world?” the bartender mutters to himself, switching the TV off again with a mildly disgusted look on his face. Sam looks away. He catches himself scratching his left arm and forces himself to stop, ignoring Lindsey’s curious gaze. 

Of course, nothing can stay the same for long, and Sam’s tentative peace is broken with the arrival of three hunters. 

“Hey, Sam!” calls a man from across the room. Sam doesn’t look up – his name is meant to be Keith, after all. But the man is persistent in his attempt to get Sam’s attention, and when this makes Lindsey look over at him, confused and curious at his sudden change in name, he figures it’s time he gives in. 

Sam tells Lindsey that his name is actually Keith Samuel and Tim, one of the hunters, tell her that they’re his dad’s old hunting buddies. Half of it is the truth, but she doesn’t look all that convinced. Despite that, Lindsey leaves the four of them be for now, although she does shoot Sam a look that makes it clear she’ll grill him for more information on the mysterious ‘Keith Samuel’ tomorrow.

Once she’s left, Tim apologises for blowing Sam’s cover like that before getting to business. 

“All those hail storms and wildfires? There’s a major demon block party going on,” he says, careful to keep his voice low. “We could really use all hands on deck here.” He looks at Sam pointedly. Sam shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He wants to prevent the end of the world, of course he does, but with three of them, he thinks, they should be able to cope with a few demons between them, right? They’re all just as experienced as his dad was, after all. He tells himself that he’s saying no because he thinks they can handle it. He tries not to dwell on the fact that, if it were anything but demons, he would help. But he can’t do that to himself. He’s not putting himself in that position again. 

“I know you could. But I really can’t. I’m sorry,” he says, and it sounds weak even to him. After some prodding, they let him be. Sam promises to buy them all a beer when they get back. Eventually, they leave the bar and Sam can’t help but feel a little relieved to see them go.

Sam is left more or less alone with his thoughts until closing time. He’s just wiping down the bar for the last time when the door chimes. When he turns around, he sees Tim, looking exhausted and angry, his clothes rumpled and stained with far too much blood. 

“Jeez – are you okay? Where are Reggie and Steve?” he asks. Tim lets out a short, flat laugh. 

“Oh, Steve? He’s good,” he replies in a tone that’s clearly meant to sound mockingly cheerful, but mostly just comes out as threatening. There’s a sinking feeling in Sam’s chest. “He’s just – his guts are lying outside the Hawley Five and Dime.” 

Sam stammers, “I’m sorry,” because he really doesn’t know what else to say. There’s a hot stab of guilt in his gut. If only he’d been there, maybe things would be different. Tim dismisses his apology immediately, and then tells Sam how they’d gotten jumped by ten demons after catching one. Sam finds himself apologising again and Tim shakes his head a second time. 

“You know, Sam, this demon told us things. Crazy things about you.” Sam stiffens, and Tim nods to himself like he’s just gotten confirmation that his suspicions were true. “So how’s about you tell me the truth? Now.” The door chime rings again, and Tim steps to the side to reveal Reggie. 

“Lindsey!” Sam shouts, because she’s there too – struggling in Reggie’s arms, eyes wild and afraid with a knife pressed to her throat. Sam makes a movement towards her, but freezes when his eyes meet Reggie’s for a moment. He looks like he could do it; like he could slit an innocent woman’s throat. 

“See, from what I heard, it was John Winchester’s son that started the damn apocalypse,” Tim says, low and dangerous. Sam shakes his head, but he can’t bring himself to speak. “The demons said it was fate, do you know that, Sam?” Instinctively, Sam draws his left arm close. Tim catches the movement and Sam curses himself. He needs to stay calm, but his eyes keep getting drawn back to where Lindsey stands, trembling with a knife pressed to her throat. Tim starts to walk towards him now, his eyes fixed on Sam’s arm.

“Stay back,” Sam hisses, but there’s nothing he can do that won’t put Lindsey at risk. He glances at her again and she meets his eyes, looking scared and confused. Then Sam’s head jerks away at the sudden feeling of Tim grabbing his arm. “Get the hell off me,” Sam spits, trying to pull his arm back. 

“No can do, Sammy. And if you don’t stop struggling, then she dies.” Tim jerks his head in Lindsey’s direction and with a scared noise, she begins fighting against Reggie’s hold again. Tim’s nails dig into Sam’s wrist as he uses his other hand to pull Sam’s sleeve up. Tim stares at Sam’s soulmark. “Well I’ll be. I’d heard the rumours John’s boys had some kind of freaky marks, but I didn’t believe it. You wanna tell me what this means, Sam?”

Sam feels slightly ill. Tim looks impatient, aggravated. There’s a wild look in his eyes that suggests that he already knows exactly what it means. He doesn’t want to say it, the promise ‘ _ if you call for me I will find you’ _ from a dream weeks ago making his throat close up.

“Lucifer.” His voice comes out as barely even whisper but Tim’s eyes widen triumphantly. Sam doesn't notice though, becuase the hairs on the back of his neck have stood up on end. He goes very still for a moment, unable to shake the sensation that there’s something -  _ someone  _ \- watching him, watching  _ over _ him. No, it has to be in his imagination, Cas hid them from the angels - 

“You hear that Reggie? Sam Winchester’s meant to be with the Devil,” Tim calls over his shoulder. Sam jolts, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand. “And that’s not even the last of it. You see, those demons told us  _ two _ very interesting things about you, Sam.” Reggie lets Sam go to rummage around in his pocket. He pulls out something small and dark in a bottle that glints in the light. 

It takes a moment for the smell to hit Sam, but when it does he stumbles back. It smells like thick, dark smoke and sickly sweetness, and Sam feels dizzy with how much he wants to reach out for it. 

“Get that away from me!” He shouts. Tim steps closer, closer, waving the vial of demon blood in Sam’s face. It’s so close now, he could reach out and grab it. It would be so easy… 

“Hell, if that demon wasn’t right as rain. Come on Sam, down the hatch,” Tim says, and Sam shakes his head desperately, stumbling back. “You're gonna drink this, Hulk out, and waste every one of the demon scum that killed my best friend. Or she dies.” He turns to Lindsey, now handcuffed to the bar with a strip of tape over her mouth. Sam feels himself grow colder.

“You wouldn’t,” he says. “We’re hunters, we’re meant to help people!”

“It’s funny how watching your best friend die changes that,” Tim replies. He casts Sam a thoughtful look. “And besides, look at you. You want this blood, don’t you? Between that and your fucked up soulmate, you’re hardly even a person. You’re barely human.” Sam tries not to let it hurt - he needs to focus - but he can’t help but recoil.

He doesn’t have long to dwell on it, though, because suddenly all the air leaves his chest as Reggie barrels into him. He thrashes and kicks and tries to clamp his mouth shut. But then Tim’s there, prying his mouth open with hands that smell like liquor and blood. Sam’s struggling ceases as he feels the demon blood hit his tongue. The taste is oh so familiar in all the worst ways, sickly and disgusting and Sam  _ wants  _ it so much that it makes him dizzy. It would be so simple just to give in, drink the blood and fight them off. He can feel that small (not small enough) part of him that longs for the power that the blood brings squirm with anticipation. It would be so easy to take that power back.

But he can’t do it – he can’t do it to himself or Dean or Bobby again. Sam spits the blood into Tim’s face, and he rears back, letting out a string of curses, red dripping down his cheek.

Sam takes his chance, slamming the back of his head into Reggie, and taking the opportunity he created to pull himself free, grabbing Reggie’s knife as he goes. As soon as he’s up, he grabs the still disoriented Tim and slams him into the bar. He presses the knife up to his throat, feeling his own pulse jumping in his neck. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth, the taste still lingering like it would when he drank Ruby’s blood and lay next to her, savouring it. 

Lindsey’s eyes meet his. She’s terrified, this time not of Tim or of Reggie, but of him. She’s terrified of Sam and what he’s about to do. For a moment, everybody in the bar is very still except for the heaving of their chests gasping for breath. Waiting to see what Sam will do. He looks at Tim’s face, angry and frightened like a cornered animal, then at Lindsey again. His hands clench around Tim’s collar, pulling hard on it and then pushing him away towards Reggie.

“Go,” Sam tells them. They leave, making vague threats about returning that are undermined by the way they can’t seem to get out fast enough. 

Once they’re gone, Sam turns to Lindsey, still on the floor. She tries to back away as he gets close, and Sam honestly can’t blame her. He’d be scared of him too. So he moves slowly, pulling a lock picking set Dean had given him years ago out of his pocket, and begins working on the handcuffs. 

“What the hell just happened?” Lindsey asks, her voice shaky and quiet. “I thought you were ex-mafia… Were you in a satanic cult or something?” Sam offers her a small smile. Her eyes drift along his arm, taking in his soulmark. She can’t read the Enochian –  _ Sam _ can’t read the Enochian – but she must have heard him say the Devil’s name earlier. 

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this,” Sam says, avoiding the question. “Honestly, it would probably be for the best if you just forgot I was ever here or that any of this happened.” She shakes her head. 

“This isn’t the kind of thing you can just forget about, Keith. Sam. Whatever your name is.” Lindsey’s hands finally come free from the handcuffs and she rubs the tender skin around her wrists. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam says again, but he knows it doesn’t make a difference. 

Sam walks Lindsey home that evening, and when he says goodbye to her at the door, she knows that she’ll never see him again. Sam walks away from her house, back to his motel, and into a deep sleep. 

The Devil isn’t in his dreams that night, and when he wakes up, he feels like he’s only closed his eyes for a moment. He packs up his things, everything he owns fitting into a single backpack, and catches the first bus out of town. He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that he wants to put as much distance between himself and that bar as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if Luce could actually watch over Sam when he called or if Sam just imagined it. Neither does Sam so I guess that's fair. Also, a life update: I'm posting this to procrastinate writing a personal statement. 
> 
> Fun fic fact 5: I wrote this chapter whilst my mum and I were staying with my nan!


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long for me to post, life's been crazy! This was one of my favourite chapters to write.

After a few days, Dean says goodbye to Rufus, Ellen, and Jo as they go their separate ways.

“It’s been great to see you, but the apocalypse isn’t gonna wait up forever whilst we have a family reunion,” Ellen says, pulling him into a hug. “And if you don’t start calling regularly I will beat your ass, you understand? I worry about you and your brother.” Dean laughs and promises to stay in contact.

After dodging a preacher holding a bundle of flyers about the world ending (because really, Dean’s already an expert), he stumbles into a motel, desperately in need of a shower, a good meal and some sleep. He’s only sat down for a moment when his phone rings, the screen flashing Cas’ name.

The angel doesn’t bother with pleasantries, instead launching straight into a lengthy explanation about how the demons have the Colt that Dean is honestly too tired to fully process.

“We’re talking about the Colt, right? As in _the_ Colt?” Dean interrupts. After Cas confirms that yes, they are talking about _that_ Colt, Dean rubs his face with the hand not holding the phone. “Well that doesn’t make any sense - why would demons keep a gun around that kills demons?” Cas doesn’t immediately answer as the sound of a truck driving past rattles out of the speaker of Dean’s phone.

“What? I didn’t - I didn’t get that,” Cas says, sounding almost flustered. It’s such an oddly human thing that Dean can’t help but chuckle, a warm feeling of affection for the angel rising in his chest.

“You know, it’s kind of funny,” he says, still grinning. “I’m talking to a messenger of God on a cellphone. It's, you know, like watching a Hell's Angel ride a moped.” 

“This isn’t funny, Dean!” Cas barks, sounding thoroughly unamused and more than a little stressed. “The voice says I’m almost out of minutes.” And then Dean’s laughing again. He should probably feel bad, but there’s something about hearing Cas’ feathers being ruffled - pun not intended - that just makes him want to smile. He has the urge, he realises suddenly, to buy Cas a phone _without_ minutes so he could talk to him for longer - if all of this ends with them somehow still alive.

“Okay, alright. It’s not my fault that this is hilarious,” Dean says with a grin. Then he clears his throat and focuses. “But I'm telling you, Cas, the demons will have melted down the gun by now.”

“Well, I hear differently,” Cas replies, sounding about as relaxed as the angel can get as the conversation drifts back to familiar territory. “And if it’s true and you are still set on the _insane_ task of killing the devil, this is how we do it.”

“Okay, where do we start?” Dean asks, purposely ignoring Cas’ disapproving tone. He can almost see the frown on the angel’s face.

“Where are you now?” The angel says. Dean tells him Kansas City, then reaches over to grab the key and read off the motel and room number. “I’ll be there immediately,” Cas tells him and Dean makes a noise of protest.

“Woah woah woah, no,” Dean definitely _doesn’t_ whine. “Come on Cas, I just drove for like, sixteen hours straight, okay? I’m human, I gotta eat and get some sleep. I just need like four hours once in a while.”

“Yes,” the angel agrees. Dean waits for him to say something else, but the angel is silent. He smiles.

“Okay, so just pop in tomorrow morning,” Dean says, letting out a long yawn. He may want to see Cas badly, but he needs sleep even more. He hangs up without even thinking about it - too busy trying to keep his heavy eyelids open so he can climb into bed. Then he’s asleep, face buried into the cheap linen of the motel’s pillows.

When he wakes up, the first thing he notices is that everything is quiet - far too quiet, even for a small town. His hand grips the blade under his pillow as he surveys the room. It’s empty apart from him, so he moves to the window, peeking through a crack in the curtain. The street below looks like a warzone. Car wrecks are scattered along the road, and he’s fairly sure he can see bullet holes in some of them.

Quickly and quietly, he gets dressed and leaves the motel. He moves through the streets in search of… Something. He’s not sure for what.

“Cas, if you can hear me… Something’s not right,” he whispers. Even that feels too loud compared to the total quiet of the streets around him.

He turns another corner and comes to a halt as a blur of red catches his eye. There’s graffiti everywhere in this town, but it’s all dark and faded with this one exception. He takes another few steps until he can make out the word ‘CROATOAN’. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. He doesn’t have long to think about how the Hell this could have all happened in one night or how he slept through it all, because he hears footsteps behind him. A lot of footsteps. Dean turns around and sees a group of about ten people moving towards him, each with a murderous expression on their face. So he does the sensible thing, and he runs.

The infected start to run too, and then there’s music and the roar of gunfire and Dean’s diving out of the way whilst someone - military, he thinks - mows down the infected people.

Chest heaving, he makes it to a fence on the edge of town. He pushes his way through and pauses for a moment to catch his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, a sign catches his eye.

“Croatoan hot zone, no entry,” he reads. “August 1st, 2014…” Dean rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. Time travel. Just when he thought his life couldn’t get any weirder, he ends up five years in the future. The universe, he thinks bitterly, just loves to prove him wrong.

It’s probably got something to do with the angels, Dean contemplates as he hotwires the nearest car that’s still in one piece. It’s not just because they’re the only thing powerful enough to send someone into the future, but also because they’re big enough dicks that they would send _him_ to the future and leave him there without a single word of warning or explanation.

“Croatoan pandemic reaches Australia.” Dean slams the brakes hard at the sound of Zachariah’s voice. The angel looks completely unfazed, not even bothering to look up from the newspaper that he must have collected specifically for the purpose of making a dramatic entrance. Asshole.

“I thought I smelt your stink on this Back to the Future crap,” Dean spits. “And how did you even find me?” Zachariah makes a face, still not looking up from the newspaper.

“Afraid we had to tap into some unorthodox resources of late—human informants,” the angel says, sounding as if working with humans leaves a bad taste in his mouth. “We've been making inspirational visits to the fringier Christian groups. They've been given your image, told to keep an eye out.” Understanding dawns on Dean as he remembers the man waving flyers and preaching about the end of the world outside the motel.

“Okay, well, that’s great,” Dean says. “You’ve had your jollies. Now send me back, you son of a bitch.” 

“Oh, you’ll get back - all in good time,” Zachariah replies, sounding suspiciously like he’s about to start a supervillain monologue. “We want you to marinate a bit. Stick around for three days, see where this course of action takes you.” He waves his hand around in a nonchalantly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean says, trying not to panic at the thought of spending three days in this nightmare world. Zachariah looks at him finally, his expression cold.

“It means that your choices have consequences,” he replies. “This is what happens to the world if you continue to say ‘no’ to Michael. Have a little look-see.” And then the angel is gone, and Dean’s left alone in a hotwired car on a road that will probably only lead to more infested cities.

With no clue where else to go, Dean drives to Bobby’s. When he pushes against the door and it swings open with no resistance, something cold settles in Dean’s stomach. Bobby never forgets to lock the door. He moves into the house, feeling like he did when he was out on the streets of the virus-filled city. Except, this is worse somehow because he’s in _Bobby’s_ house, picking his way through upturned furniture and hoping, begging, that the man who raised him when his father didn’t is alright.

Dean finds Bobby’s wheelchair in the library with the unmistakable tear of a bullet hole through the back. His blood runs cold. With shaking hands, he fumbles with the hidden compartment on the fireplace, hoping that maybe, just maybe… As he pulls out his dad’s journal, a black and white photo comes loose. He sighs with relief as he recognises Bobby and Cas, holding guns next to three men Dean doesn’t recognise. If Cas is with Bobby, then he would have healed him. He scrutinises the grainy photograph, his eyes resting on a sign behind them reading ‘Camp Chitaqua’. After surveying the room for a moment more, his eyes wandering back to the bullet hole, Dean decides that it’s time to leave. He’s seen enough.

It takes Dean about an hour to find the camp, and when he does, the first thing he sees is the wreck that once was his Baby. He lets out a distressed noise as he looks at the car, which looks like it’s both been crashed and then stripped for parts. A tangle of plants grow out of her wheel well, and he’s pretty sure there’s more sprouting in the back seat. Pulling open the door, he looks at the dashboard, which is so scratched up he can barely even make out the initials _SW_ anymore. And then he can’t make out anything at all.

The first thing he notices as he comes round is that his head hurts like a bitch. There’s a clink of metal when he tries to move his hands, and Dean looks up to see that he’s been handcuffed to a ladder of some kind. Now on high alert, his head spins around the room. His eyes land on a figure sitting at the other end of the room with a gun in hand.

“What the hell?” Dean says.

“I should be asking that question, don’t you think?” The _other Dean_ asks back, cocking his gun. “In fact, why don’t you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t gank you right here and now?” Dean recoils, but the other him doesn’t budge, his eyes cold and hard. 

“Because you’d only be hurting yourself?” Dean tries to joke, but the other him doesn’t look amused. So, he tries a different approach. “Look man - I’m not a shapeshifter or demon or anything, okay?” And god, this is his life - he’s trying to talk another version of himself from some kind of post-apocalypse dimension out of shooting him. 

“I know. I did the drill while you were out. Silver, salt, holy water - nothing,” the other Dean says. “Now, you wanna explain, the uh, the slight resemblance? And maybe _that_ whilst you’re at it?” The other Dean jerks his gun and Dean looks up at his arms again. It’s then that he notices his left sleeve is rolled up and his soulmark is on show.

“Zachariah,” Dean says, and the other Dean jerks upright. “I’m you from the tail end of 2009. He threw me five years into the future. That’s why I have your soulmark.” A flash of something crosses the other Dean’s face.

“Where is he? I wanna talk to him,” the other Dean says, somehow looking both angry and hopeful.

“I don’t know,” Dean replies. The other Dean shoots him a look that makes it clear he doesn’t believe it for a second. “I don’t know! Look, I just wanna get back to my own friggin’ year, okay?” The other Dean looks away for a moment, working his jaw as he thinks. Then he turns back to Dean, his eyes fixing on Dean’s soulmark. It makes him feel self conscious, because even though it’s technically _himself_ looking at the mark, it feels wrong to have someone staring at it. Dean clears his throat and the other Dean’s eyes snap to his face.

“So, what, Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?” He asks and Dean nods. “It’s the Croatoan that really screwed things up. It’s efficient, incurable and scary as hell. It started hitting the major cities about two years back and now...“ He trails off. Dean thinks back to the ruined city and suppresses a shudder.

“What about Sam?” Dean asks. The other him goes very, very still. Then he turns away, keeping his back to Dean as he places his gun on the table. His shoulders are tense. 

“Heavyweight showdown in Detroit,” he says quietly, and there’s a sinking feeling of dread in Dean’s chest. “From what I understand, Sam didn’t make it.” Dean slumps against the ladder. He opens his mouth, and it feels like there’s a lump in his throat. 

“You weren’t with him?” His voice comes out as a croak. The other Dean still doesn’t look at him. 

“No. No, Sam and I, we haven’t talked in… hell, five years.” Then he lets out a breath, picks up his gun and moves towards the door. “I gotta run an errand.” 

“Hey, hold on! Didn’t you ever try to find him? Come on man, you can’t just leave me here,” Dean calls. The other Dean opens the door. “Okay fine. But you don’t have to cuff me. Don’t you trust yourself?” The other Dean turns around and fixes him with a withering look.

“No. Absolutely not,” he says and yeah, that’s fair enough. The door slams shut. Dean stays where he is for all of thirty seconds before he’s prying a nail out of the floorboards and using it to remove his handcuffs. 

After Chuck gravely warns him to hoard toilet paper, and a woman named Risa who he’d apparently pissed off bad enough to warrant a mean left hook, Dean comes to two conclusions: firstly, that future him is an even bigger dick than he first thought, and secondly, that he needs to visit Cas. He walks over to the cabin that Chuck had pointed out and pushes aside a beaded curtain. 

The first thing that hits him in the ever so distinctive smell of weed. Dean stops and blinks. The room is full of women who are all staring intently at Cas. The angel has a lazy smile on his face that Dean’s never seen before and his posture is slumped and relaxed. His eyes meet Dean’s and his smile dips for a moment. A look passes over his face that Dean can’t quite figure out for a moment before Cas is smiling lazily at the women again. 

“Excuse me ladies, I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute,” Cas says, rising to his feet. “Why not go get washed up for the orgy?” Dean nearly chokes. One by one, the women filter out of the cabin, several of them glaring at him as they go. After watching them leave, Dean turns back to Cas. 

“Cas, we gotta talk-” he begins. 

“Woah, strange,” Cas says, cutting him off. “You’re not you. Not _now_ you, anyway. Did Zachariah do this? What year are you from?” He looks confused in a way that makes his eyes go wide. It’s different from the way Cas - _his_ Cas - squints and furrows his brows, but his head still tips to the side a little. 

“Uh, yeah, it was Zachariah. He scooped me up from 2009 and tossed me into the future, apparently,” Dean explains. Cas leans in very close, and Dean moves back a couple of steps. “So uh, why don’t you strap on your angel wings and fly me back to my page on the calendar?” Cas lets out a bitter laugh.

“I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings,” he says, still laughing in a way that sounds a little too much like a sob. “But I’m sorry, no dice.”

“What are you, stoned?” Dean asks, because he doesn’t understand how else Cas could be so… Whatever this is. Cas turns to face him again.

“Generally, yeah.” Dean just stares at him, at this shell of the angel Dean knows. Something uncomfortable lodges itself in his ribcage. “Life happened...” Cas says and waves his hands in a vague gesture. It’s enough. Dean understands.

A few hours later, the woman who’d confronted Dean earlier - Risa, he thinks her name was - keeps glancing between him to the _other_ him. Said other him is currently glaring at Castiel’s boots resting on the corner of the map spread out across the table of the headquarters. Dean somehow gets the impression that if it were anyone other than Cas, the other Dean would probably have punched him by now. Risa’s eyes drift to Castiel, slouched in his chair and feet on the table, and the disbelieving look on her face tells Dean that he’s probably right. 

“So this mission you were on earlier,” Dean says, breaking the silence. “It was for the Colt?” The other Dean nods and pulls the gun out of his pocket and places it on the table. 

“If anything can kill Lucifer,” the other Dean says, a vicious gleam in his eyes, “this is it.” 

“Great,” Risa pipes up dryly. “Do we have anything that can _find_ Lucifer?” She raises an eyebrow. 

“We know where he his,” the other Dean says, sounding all too sure of himself. “The demon we caught last week was one of the big guy’s entourage. He knew.” Something in Dean’s stomach sinks. 

“So, a demon tells you where Satan’s gonna be, and you just believe it?” She asks in disbelief. 

“Oh trust me,” the other Dean says, a dark smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “He wasn’t lying.” Cas looks away, and Dean’s suspicions are confirmed. 

“Torture?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer. “So, we’re torturing again? Wow. That’s real classy.” The other Dean shoots him a dark look, but before he can respond Cas is laughing. It’s not a loud sound, just a quiet exhale of breath, but the grin fills his whole face. Dean’s never seen those laugh lines on Cas’ face before. It’s a good look on him. The other Dean offers him a dark look, but Cas just rolls his eyes.   
  
“What? I like past you,” Cas says in a flippant tone. He glances over his shoulder and shoots Dean a wink. The back of Dean’s neck suddenly feels hot. The other Dean, on the other hand, shoots him a glare that, if Dean isn’t mistaken (which he isn’t - he knows himself) seems more than a little jealous. Dean doesn’t get why. Sure, it seems almost like flirting, which _is_ kind of weird coming from an angel, but this Cas literally hosts orgies. A little flirting hardly seems that out of the question, but apparently it’s enough to piss the other him off. 

“Lucifer is here, now,” the other Dean says, diverting both Cas and Dean’s attention back to the matter at hand, jabbing a finger at the map spread out on the table with more force that is probably needed. “I know the block and I know the building.” Cas leans forwards to inspect the map. 

“Oh, good it’s right in the middle of a hot zone,” he says, swinging his legs off the table and standing up. “So we what, walk straight up the driveway, past all the demons and Croats, and we shoot the devil?” 

“Yes,” the other Dean says without hesitation. Dean would be impressed with how confident he sounded if it wasn’t for the fact that his plan was completely insane. “I don’t care if you think it’s reckless or not, Cas. Are you coming?” There’s something in his expression that Dean can’t quite place. Cas stares back with equal intensity. Then the moment is broken as Cas sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“Of course,” he says with an uncomfortable gravity. Like a vow. Dean remembers how his Cas had agreed to help him with his own insane plan to kill the devil. Some things, he supposes, don’t ever change. “But why is he - why is _you_ from five years ago coming? If something happens to him, you’re gone, right?” The other Dean doesn’t answer, just shoots a ‘just shut up and do as you’re told’ sort of look that reminds Dean a little too much of his father. “Okay, well, I’ll get the grunts moving, I guess,” Cas sighs, raising his hands in defeat. Both Deans watch as Cas and Risa file out of the room. 

There’s a long, tense pause as Dean watches the other him roll up the map. 

“Why are you bringing me?” Dean asks. “I wanna know what’s going on.” The other Dean pauses. When he turns around, his features are carefully schooled into a neutral expression.

“You’re coming because I want you to see something,” he says. “I want you to see our brother.” Dean goes still.

“Sam? I thought he was dead?” The other him works his jaw for a moment.

“Sam didn’t _die_ in Detroit, he said ‘yes’,” he says. For a moment, Dean’s more confused than ever. And then it hits him. It must show on his face, because then the other him is speaking again, anger seeping into his voice. “That’s right. The big ‘yes’ to the _Devil_. Lucifer’s wearing him to the prom.”

For a moment Dean can’t speak, only watch as the other Dean picks up and reloads the colt. It takes a moment to sink in. The last thing on the planet he wants is for the Devil to be wearing his brother’s skin, and it’s happened. In this place, in this version of events, it’s a reality.

“Why would he do that?” Dean asks because he can’t get the words ‘say yes to Devil’ out from where they’re lodged in his throat. The other Dean shakes his head. 

“I wish I knew. But now we don’t have choice, it’s in him and it’s not getting out. So we’ve got to kill him,” the other Dean says, staring Dean directly in the eye now. “You need to see it - the whole damn thing. You need to see how bad it gets to that you can do it differently. So that when Zach brings you back, you say ‘yes’.” Dean gapes.

“That’s crazy. If I let him in, then Michael fights the devil,” he says, trying - failing - not to think of Sam again. “The battle will torch half the planet!”

“Look around you, man,” the other Dean scoffs. “Half the planet’s better than no planet, which is what we have now! If I could do it over, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.” 

“So why don’t you?” Dean spits.

“I’ve tried! I’ve shouted ‘yes’ ‘till I was blue in the face, but the angels aren’t listening, they just gave up and left! It’s too late for me, but for you-” The other Dean draws in a shaky breath. “I don’t have the soulmark anymore. When the angels left, it changed, somehow. My destiny, or whatever, is broken. I _can’t_ say yes. But you could. You could stop all of this crap from happening.” He looks at Dean, eyes fixed on his left arm. There’s a defeated look on his face that Dean can’t bear to think too hard about. 

“No,” he says. “There’s got to be another way.” It comes out more certain than he feels. The other Dean huffs out a quiet, bitter laugh. Then, he picks up the Colt and leaves without another word. 

When they move out to go and kill Lucifer - to kill _Sam_ \- Dean ends up riding shotgun next to Cas. It’s different from what Dean’s used to, the car feeling almost still compared to the thrum of the Impala and Cas being… Dean glances over to watch Cas pop several pills into his mouth and swallow them dry. 

“Okay, don’t get me wrong, Cas,” Dean begins, “I’m glad you’ve got the stick out of your ass, but what’s with all the drugs and the love guru crap?” Castiel lets out a hollow laugh, then turns to him with an equally hollow smile. 

“Dean, I’m not an angel anymore,” he says and at this point, Dean’s feeling sick of all the revelations that only seem to be getting worse. Cas’ lips twitch. “Yeah, I went mortal. Not through choice - I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. When they bailed, my mojo just sort of… Drained away. I’m practically human now, all but useless.” He says it in that same flippant tone he’d used earlier, but as he stares at the road, he looks miserable. Dean finds that he desperately wants to say something reassuring but - 

“Wait, if you’re human, do you have a soulmark now?” comes blurting out before he can stop himself. Cas goes stiff and Dean curses his stupid mouth. He doesn’t even know why he’d asked something like that; the only people who ask about soulmarks are either rom-com characters or middle schoolers and Dean is pretty sure he’s neither of those. He’s just being rude. “Shit Cas - sorry, you don’t have to tell me that-” 

“It’s fine,” Cas tells him, but his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel says otherwise. “I do. Have a mark, I mean. But it’s - Dean, this was already a train wreck before and now you’re here and I don’t-” Cas sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“It’s okay, Cas. You don’t have to tell me about it if it’s some kind of-” Dean waves his hands vaguely, “-soap opera, or whatever.” Cas huffs and shakes his head, but the curve of his lips lets Dean know he’s amused and not angry. It’s odd seeing the angel’s face being so open like this. He watches as the angel’s smile fades, growing sombre 

“You have a right to know, Dean,” the angel - _human_ , Dean has to remind himself - says. It takes Cas a moment to compose himself. “It’s _you_ , Dean. Ever since I touched your soul and pulled you out of Hell, even though you were Michael’s vessel… I held you, and you were the brightest, most beautiful soul I’ve ever seen.” Cas’ eyes fall closed for a moment like he’s remembering something important. When they open, they remain fixed on the road.

“Cas, I…” Dean swallows, his mouth suddenly feeling very, very dry. He doesn’t know what he was going to say - has no idea what he _could_ even say to that. He stares at his friend - his friend who, in this broken, fucked up world where civilisation is crumbling and Sam is possessed by Satan, has become his soulmate. Cas has seen what he did in Hell - held his _soul_. He knows just how messed up Dean is and he hasn’t turned away. Even as the world was ending and he lost his wings, Heaven, the other angels, everything he’s ever known, Cas has stayed with him. 

Something swells in his chest, and he doesn’t know if it’s affection or sadness or some dizzying combination of both. Because he knows that Cas is loyal to the point where he’d die for Dean, but he knows how many women both Cas and the other him sleep with, and he knows something isn’t right. 

“You - the other you, _my_ Dean, he’s not like you. Not since he found out Sam said ‘yes’ to Lucifer,” Cas says. Dean thinks about the hardness in the other him’s eyes and the way he always just seemed a little too aggressive, like he had a little too much of John in him. “He and I… We were very happy together for a while, but since he heard about what happened to Sam… It wouldn’t work. He always said it was because we needed to put the camp first. We both knew that wasn’t the real reason, but…” Cas trails off again, shoulders hunched and eyes peering out at the dark road. He looks so sad and lonely, and Dean wants nothing more than to reassure him somehow. That, and he has a strong urge to punch himself in the face. 

“Cas, the other me is a dick,” Dean says, and yeah, maybe it’s not the most eloquent, but it makes Cas laugh. A wave of relief washes through Dean, glad to see faint laugh lines around Cas’ eyes in the dim light. “But seriously, Cas. I - geez, I don’t know how to do this - I know that in my time, we aren’t soulmates but… I care about you. You literally pulled me out of Hell, you’ve stuck with me through so much crap, and from the looks of things, you never stopped doing that.” Cas turns to him, smiling in a soft way that makes Dean feel warm. Everything here seems so different. But Cas, Dean thinks to himself, watching as he squints at the road, is still his Cas underneath it all. 

Cas is his soulmate. And it makes perfect sense. 

In the faint light, Cas catches his eye and smiles at Dean. Then the angel focuses back on the road. They drive on in relative silence (the only broadcasts are military or static these days, Cas explains), but it’s comfortable. Cas is faintly smiling the whole way.

They arrive at the hot zone in the early hours of the morning, stepping out into the still air. It’s quiet, too quiet, with no sign of life (human or otherwise) around. This, Dean thinks, is the calm before a storm. The brief sense of joy he’d felt in the car with Cas is pushed down by the looming sense that something is very very wrong. The other Dean barks his orders to the rest of the group, his face twisting ever so slightly. He’s lying about something. The feeling of wrongness growing stronger, Dean calls the other him over. 

“What?” the other Dean snaps, turning his back to the rest of the group.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Dean says, glancing for a moment at Cas and feeling a surge of protectiveness. “You’re lying you’re lying to these people, and to me.” Dean watches as the other him glances over his shoulder to check if the others had heard anything. 

“There are no croats out here, absolutely none, do you know what that means? They cleared a path for us,” The other Dean says, and Dean feels his heart sink. “This is a trap.”

“Well then, we can’t go through the front,” Dean hisses. 

“ _We’re_ not. They are. They’re the decoys. You and I are going through the back,” the other Dean says, not even having the decency to look ashamed when he says it. Dean stares back, feeling shocked and disgusted and determined not to let that happen. 

“So you’re gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder?” He growls. Dean’s never really liked himself all that much, but this version of him barely even seems human anymore. “Cas too? You want to send your own freaking _soulmate_ to his death?” Finally, _finally_ , the other him looks away, shame flickering in his eyes. But then he looks back up, face stubbornly set, and Dean knows he can’t change his mind.

“Listen to me, _Dean_ , you might want to get of your high horse, because your determination not to sacrifice people is one of the main reasons we’re in this mess,” the other him spits, but Dean doesn’t want to hear it. “They trust me to kill the devil and save the world and that’s what I’m gonna do.” Dean shakes his head, thinks of Chuck’s nervous chatter and Risa’s determination to sass the Hell out of the other him and of Cas’ deep laughter and the fact that he’s Dean’s _soulmate_. 

“No,” he says firmly. “You’re not gonna kill Lucifer - not like this you’re not. I won’t let you.” The other Dean raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, really?” he says, and it’s the last thing Dean hears before a fist connects with his jaw and everything goes dark.

Dean sits up, head throbbing. He feels like he’s only been out for a moment, but the earlier silence has been shattered. The sound of gunshots rattles, and he spins to look at the source. It’s the building that the ‘decoys’ were going to enter through, he realises. He begins to walk towards it, desperate to help, but stops when he hears a great crash of thunder. Something in his gut tells him what it means: Lucifer is here. With one last glance up at the windows, he begins to run around the side of the building, feeling like a traitor to his friends and his soulmate.

He rounds the corner into a garden, and the first thing he sees is himself, face pressed into the grass. There’s a white figure looming over him, shoe pressed against his neck, and Dean barely has a moment to process the scene before the figure shifts his weight. There’s an audible crack as the other Dean’s neck breaks and his body goes limp. Dean draws in a sharp breath.

The horror of witnessing himself die doesn’t have long to settle in, because then the figure is looking up and turning to face him. It takes Dean a moment to tear his eyes away from his own dead face, and when he does, he wishes he hadn’t. The other figure is much worse than his own corpse.

“Oh, hello Dean,” Lucifer says in Sam’s voice, twisting Sam’s face into a disconcerted yet unnerving smile that makes Dean’s skin crawl. 

Dean can’t stop staring at the face of his brother - the brother who he’d more or less _raised_ , and he feels sick. Because he can barely recognise Sam anymore. Lightning flashes, thunder rumbling through the air.

“Aren’t you a surprise? I imagine you’ve come a long way to see this.” The sound of his voice is all wrong, Lucifer’s detached interest the only emotion in Sam’s voice. He sounds like an angel who doesn’t have to concern himself with humans; like there’s nothing of Sam left, even in his own voice. Dean takes in a breath, the smell of ozone and the roses lining the garden filling his nostrils. Suddenly it feels like all the energy has been sucked out of him. 

“Well go ahead,” Dean says, mustering up as much defiance as he can when just wants this to all be over. Cas is dead or dying and Sam is long gone too. “Kill me.” Lucifer frowns, a face of confusion that’s far too much like Sam’s, but Dean doesn’t get his hopes up. Lucifer glances from Dean to the ground. He doesn’t follow his gaze, knows Lucifer’s looking at the other Dean’s corpse. 

“Don’t you think that would be a little redundant?” Lucifer says. Dean can’t tell if it’s meant to be a joke - doesn’t want to know. There’s so little feeling in Sam’s voice now. Lucifer has drained the humanity out of it, out of every part of Sam. Everything from the way he stands at full height looking down at Dean to the way that the lightning casts his face in an unearthly glow seem inhuman. But the worst part is the soulmark.

Since it appeared, Dean can count on one hand the number of times Sam has willingly showed someone his soulmark. He knows his brother had always hated it and the way it made him feel like he could never live a normal life. And now he sees Lucifer, standing there with his pristine white shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbow. The Devil is showing off _his own name_ on Sam’s arm, Dean realises, a wave of anger rising in him. It’s the most egotistical thing Dean’s ever seen, but worse than that, it’s everything Sam wouldn’t have wanted.

“I’m sorry, this must be painful, speaking to me in this… shape,” Lucifer says, his eyes following Dean’s gaze. Lucifer raises his arm, studying the mark with a gaze that’s so close to adoration that Dean wants to punch the narcissistic bastard in the face. “But it had to be your brother. It had to be.” Lucifer raises his - _Sam’s_ \- other arm and runs a finger across the mark. For a moment Dean’s anger is overwhelmed by his nausea and he draws in a sharp breath. Lucifer’s name is on Sam’s arm, and the Devil marvels at its presence like a child inspecting their name on the tag of a new coat.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean mutters. Lucifer looks up like he’d forgotten Dean was even there, and it only pisses Dean off more. “I know what you are. You’re the same kind of supernatural crap that I’ve been squashing my whole life. You’re the same thing as every other ugly, belly to the ground thing that I’ve killed. The only difference between you and them is the size of your ego.” Lucifer smiles. It’s an unpleasant, patronising thing that’s meant to make Dean feel small and insignificant. 

“I like you, Dean,” Lucifer says, something that sounds almost like honesty in his voice, “I get what the other angels see in you, I really do. We’ll meet again soon.” And then Lucifer is turning away, turning Sam’s body away and Dean finds himself yelling before he even has a chance to think about what he’s saying. 

“You better kill me now!” Dean’s voice echoes into the silent garden. He doesn’t know when the thunder stopped and desperately tries not to think about how he can’t hear the distant clatter of guns anymore. Lucifer pauses and turns back around, brow furrowing in conclusion. “You better kill me now, or I swear, I will find a way to kill you. And I won’t stop.” Lucifer takes a step closer. 

“I know you won’t. But I know you won’t say yes to Michael, either. And I know you won’t kill Sam,” Lucifer says, staring at Dean with that cold angelic certainty that Dean can’t bear to see on his brother’s face. And the worst part is that Dean knows in his gut that Lucifer is right. “Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we alway end up here. I win. So, I win.” Dean feels like a weight of hopelessness has been dropped on his shoulders. This is how it will end for him too, he thinks, abandoning his soulmate to be ripped to shreds and the last thing he sees being the face of his brother as Lucifer crushes his neck like he’s squishing a bug. 

“You’re wrong,” he chokes out, tears spilling from his eyes. Thunder begins to rumble overhead again. Lucifer’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. Dean doesn’t know - doesn’t care to know - if it’s meant to mock or comfort him in some twisted way.

“See you in five years, Dean,” Lucifer says. Lightning flashes, so close and bright that Dean flinches. When he looks up, Lucifer, the last shred of his brother left in this time, is gone. Then he blinks, attempts to clear his eyes of the tears. The room he finds when his eyes are open again is a hotel room. It takes him a moment to recognise it, but when he does a wave of relief washes through him. He’s back in 2009.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I'll write a one shot from Sam's POV for this version of the endverse? Also, I've decided Lindsay and Risa (not the endverse one) meet, fall in love and adopt two dogs and a little girl together and live out their happy, Winchester-free lives together. That's canon now.
> 
> Fun Fic Facts no. 6: A lot of the time I spend working on this is in the school's silent study area. Whilst I was working on these earlier chapters, my friend Sophie enjoyed reading over my shoulder and then winking dramatically at me because she's a big meanie.


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (This chapter picks up immediately after the last one, after Dean's back from the endverse).

Dean’s shoulders sag as the tension drains from his body. 2009 means no Satan possessing his brother, no Croatoan, no twisted up version of himself sacrificing the people who trust him. He’s never been so relieved to be living his shitty life before. 

Then he turns and sees Zachariah watching him. His shoulders tense up again.

“Well, if it isn’t the ghost of Christmas screw you,” he says, but he can hardly muster up any venom in his voice. He feels too exhausted.

“Enough, Dean,” Zachariah says. “You saw what happens, you’re the only one who can prove the devil wrong. All you need to do is say yes to Michael. Give yourself over and we can strike before Lucifer gets to Sam, before  _ billions _ die.” The angel sounds serious. This, Dean thinks, would be the perfect time to do it. He thinks of Sam’s face, contorted into Lucifer’s smile. For a moment, he really considers it.

But then the moment passes. 

“Nah,” he says. It takes a full five seconds for Zachariah to react. His expression slowly morphs from neutral into that perfectly still rage that only angels can master. 

“You telling me you haven’t learned your lesson?” He spits, taking a step towards Dean. Dean tries to shrug dismissively but the movement is stiff from the tension in his shoulders. It serves its purpose though, because Zachariah looks livid, his voice gradually raising to a shout. “Well in that case, I’ll just have to teach it again! Because I’ve got you now, boy and I’m never letting you-”

Dean suddenly feels his stomach drop, and then all of a sudden he’s outside, staring at Cas. The angel stares back and for one dizzying moment Dean thinks he’s back in the other timeline. But then he realises Cas is wearing his trenchcoat and his smile is only visible at the corners of his mouth - this is his Cas. He lets out a deep sigh that he didn’t know he was holding. 

“That’s pretty great timing, Cas,” he says, still a little disoriented from so much angelic teleportation in the space of five minutes. 

“We had an appointment,” the angel replies, his smile growing a little wider. His eyes glint with amusement, but they’re sharp and focused. It’s nothing like the unfocused sadness of the other Cas’ eyes and Dean’s so glad to have his angel back - this angel who, in some other timeline, is his soulmate. Dean clears his throat, trying to push the thought and the way that something in his chest seems to jump at the idea away. 

“Don’t ever change,” he says. Dean reaches out to slap Cas on the shoulder but pauses as his hand meets the rough fabric of Cas’ trenchcoat. He finds himself giving the angel’s arm a gentle squeeze. At times, Cas seems as solid as stone, but in moments like these he softens somehow, becoming a little more human.

“Are you… alright?” Cas asks like he’s uncertain of the question. Dean’s mouth quirks into a wiry grin. 

“I’ve been better but… I’ve been worse,” he replies. He realises that he hand is still on the angel’s shoulder and shoves it into his jacket pocket to fish his phone out. Cas is watching him intently, eyebrows furrowed just a little, like he’s trying to work out what bizarre human ritual is currently taking place. Dean can feel the angel’s eyes on him as he stares at Sam’s name on his contacts list. He looks back up at the angel who’s so close he can almost see where the laugh lines would form on his face in that other timeline.

Because it wouldn’t happen in this timeline. Not to Cas or Sam or the planet. He wouldn’t let Lucifer win.

“I’m gonna call Sam,” Dean says. He clears his throat. “I guess I’ll see you around, Cas.”

“If you need me, pray or phone me. Preferably pray.” Dean laughs. The angel is gone the next time he blinks, and Dean tries not to miss him as he types out a text to Sam.

Dean drives through the rest of the night. By the time he reaches the town where they’re due to meet, the sun has already started to rise, staining the sky orange. Up ahead of him, Dean sees the figure of his brother slumped of the hood of a car and feels like he can finally breathe. He stops the Impala and climbs out. Sam smiles at him and it’s tense and awkward but it’s  _ human _ . His brother is human. 

As he walks closer, Dean can make out the heavy bags under Sam’s eyes and the ghost of an ugly bruise on his left cheek. From the looks of things, the last couple of weeks haven’t exactly been a walk in the park for him either. Sam shifts his weight from one foot to the other and then back again. He’s nervous.

Dean nods at his brother, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out Ruby’s knife. Sam takes half a step back and Dean feels a swell of protectiveness in his chest. Sam is nervous and bruised and clearly hasn’t been sleeping well. He deserves a brother who’s there for him, destiny be damned. He hands Sam the knife, handle first.

“Judging by the state of your face, I’m guessing you’re pretty rusty, so you’ll probably want to keep hold of this,” he says. 

Sam studies the knife for a long moment, turning it over in his hands, before he looks up. “Thanks,” he says, quiet like he’s still not entirely sure of himself. Dean hates seeing his brother on edge like this but he’ll take it over Lucifer’s cold disinterest any day. 

“Look man, I’m sorry. Maybe we are each other’s Achilles heel but… We keep each other human,” he says. Dean can see the relief and gratitude on Sam’s face and hopes that it will be enough; that they can get through whatever fate has decided for them together. Because he’s not going to let Lucifer possess Sam, and he’s not going to say yes to Michael. They can save the world, no matter what any soulmark or angel or prophet says.

Sam lets out a relieved sigh, wincing as he does so and rubbing at the bruise on his cheek. 

“You look like hell, what happened?” Dean asks, taking the opportunity to change the subject. Sam grimaces. 

“It turns out I’m not so popular with the hunter community anymore. Like... at all.” Dean blinks, and it takes a moment for it to sink in that  _ hunters _ did this to his brother. “I guess they have every right to hate me after everything I did but…” Sam swallows, the guilt visible in the tension in his jaw and the way his eyebrows furrow. Dean is getting too familiar with that expression. Sam’s fucked up a lot of things, but he’s still Dean’s brother and he hates to see him so torn up.

“Was this someone we know?” Dean asks through gritted teeth, gesturing to the angry purple blotch on Sam’s face.

“Some of dad’s old hunting buddies. They- they knew. About everything I did. Not at first, but a demon told them and they thought there was a sure fire way to check themselves…” Sam trails off, but Dean’s eyes follow the movement of his hand as he starts scratching at his forearm. He feels cold all over. “They knew about the mark, Dean. And they thought that I didn’t help them because I wanted to help  _ him _ .” Sam doesn’t say the Devil’s name, almost like he can’t bring himself to. 

Sam hasn’t been sleeping, Dean realises, because Lucifer has been showing up in his dreams. He kicks himself, feeling ashamed that he ever suggested that they split apart in the first place. He should have been there, taking care of his brother - not leaving him alone to deal with Satan whispering in his ear.

“Did Lucifer show up in your head again?” Dean asks.

“No,” Sam replies a little  _ too  _ quickly. Dean’s eyes narrow, but before he can speak, Sam continues, “Don’t get me wrong, Dean, I’m real glad to see you again. But why the sudden change of heart?”

Dean pauses. He thinks of Lucifer contorting his brother into something twisted and inhuman. He thinks of Cas, fallen, his eyes wide and unfocused and heartbroken. He thinks of himself, who let it all happen, who let his friends get torn apart for the chance to put a bullet through his brother’s skull. And he looks at his brother and knows he could never say any of that out loud. He shrugs. 

“What can I say, I missed my brother,” he says nonchalantly. Sam smiles like he knows Dean isn’t telling the full truth. 

Neither of them point out the other’s lie. It’s an unspoken, mutual agreement that whatever it is can wait - forever, if they’re lucky. Which, of course, they know they probably won’t be. But for now, thoughts of lies and the end of the world are pushed to the side as Dean books them into the motel after a half hearted attempt to chat up the girl with her feet up on the desk. Sam watches the exchange, looking equal parts exasperated and fond at his brother’s awful pick up lines.

Dean more or less crashes as soon as he’s kicked off his shoes and scoffed down the now lukewarm burger that they’d stopped to grab from the nearest diner. Sam watches his brother enviously from over the top of his laptop screen. 

He’s tired too, his eyes drooping, but he doesn’t feel like he could sleep right now. His few weeks of working regular evening shifts had stabilised his sleep schedule just enough that he feels compelled not to just go to sleep at eleven in the morning. That, and there’s the thought of Satan showing up in his dreams. Again. Sam feels a pang of guilt that he tries to shove down. He _ knows _ he shouldn’t lie to his brother. But it wasn’t like there was anything he could do about one of the most powerful creatures in the universe deciding to make semi-regular appearances in his dreams, and Dean had looked exhausted. There was no point in making him freak out over something they couldn’t change, right?

He shuts his laptop with a sigh, eyes unable to focus on the screen as his thoughts keep drifting to the Devil. He sits leaning against the headboard trying to make a mental list of what he needs to do that day. He gets as far as ‘finding a case, buying some groceries’ before his eyes grow too heavy to stay open. 

When he opens them again, he’s in a dimly lit motel room. The air is cold, and he feels Lucifer’s presence before he turns around to see the angel’s face. His  _ vessel’s  _ face - the one he’s only wearing because he can’t currently wear Sam’s. Lucifer tilts his head to the side curiously. 

“Humans are to my recollection diurnal,” Lucifer says slowly. “So I assume you’ve either crossed into a different hemisphere or you’ve reunited with your brother. You never did like the hunter’s life.”

“Stay out of my head,” Sam spits, because Lucifer isn’t wrong, but nor is he accusing Sam of anything. The Devil dips his head apologetically - and that’s the worst thing, Sam thinks; the Devil is in his head, but all he does is speak to Sam in that soft voice as if he’s something precious. He doesn’t try to convince Sam to say yes because he doesn’t seem to think he has to. He’s so sure of himself - so sure of  _ Sam _ \- that it’s a little frightening. But beyond that, Lucifer is almost kind. He listens to Sam, never responds to his harsh words, no matter how much Sam snaps at him. 

“Do you want to know what happened to your brother? Some angels just can’t help gossiping, you know,” Lucifer says, the corners of his lips curving up like he’s sharing an inside joke. Sam’s instinctual response is to say no - this is the father of lies he’s talking to, after all - but he hesitates. Surely it can’t hurt for Sam to hear what Lucifer has to say. He knows that the Devil will probably lying, so he nods slowly, eyeing Lucifer suspiciously. Lucifer’s face doesn’t change, but somehow his demeanour seems to grow brighter. “It seems - what was his name? -  _ Zachariah _ , I believe you’ve met him, sent your brother to explore another timeline. One where you had already said yes to me.” Sam stiffens and draws away from Lucifer. He doesn’t even remember leaning towards him in the first place. Lucifer lets him, a slight quirk of his lips the only indication that he had noticed Sam pulling away from him. 

“If this is some trick to convince me to say yes, you’ll have to try harder than that,” he spits. Lucifer blinks like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. 

“Would you like me to try harder?” the Devil says, clearly puzzled. “I didn’t think you wanted me to convince you of our destiny. I promised you I would never trick you, Sam.”

“I don’t -” Sam cuts himself off and massages his forehead. “You’re the Devil. Tricks and coercion are kind of your thing, so forgive me if I don’t believe that.” Lucifer tilts his head to the side and sighs like he’s disappointed.

“I’m sure I have a better record for honesty then most of the angels you know,” he says patiently. “I’m not the one who sent your brother to a different timeline in an attempt to force him into saying yes, am I?”

Sam huffs, but he can’t exactly disagree. Lucifer seems like he’s trying to be trustworthy, but after everything that happened with Ruby, Sam’s not planning on letting him get under his skin. He knows he can’t let himself trust Lucifer. No matter how much a part of him that wants to. 

“Were you watching me, on the day those hunters showed up at the bar?” He asks after a long pause.

Lucifer tilts his head to one side, looking at Sam thoughtfully. “When you call for me, I can feel your soul, Sam. Whatever’s stopping me from finding you makes that connection weak, but it can’t entirely separate us.” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sam replies. Lucifer chuckles, corners of his eyes creasing into a smile as he looks at Sam. 

“I cannot discover your location, if that’s what you mean. The connection between us may be faint right now, but it allows me to observe the… rhythm of your soul. It changes as you feel strong emotions. Human language does not have the adequate words to describe it, but when we’re together, you will be able to understand.” 

“That won’t happen,” Sam says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. He tries not to think about it, but when they’re sitting here alone and Lucifer is watching him like he’s the most interesting thing in the world, Sam can feel and ache in his gut that makes him want to reach out for his soulmate. 

But of course, he never does. He can’t. Lucifer wants to use him as his vessel to destroy the world. Sam’s messed up a lot, but this is one thing he’s determined to get right. So they sit there, Lucifer staring at Sam, fascinated, and Sam watching him warily back until Sam drifts into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me so long! Life just got completely chaotic, and I got distracted by a new season of Gotham. But! I'm back now after a break and I'm going to begin working on this fic again. 
> 
> Fun Fic Fact #7: this was the last chapter I wrote before my A Level mocks started last year :,) Coincidentally I've also done a second set of mock exams a few weeks ago!


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite having chapters 1-10 pre-written, my posting schedule is still so erratic. Sorry about that.

Sam’s day goes from ‘standard hunt’ to ‘weird’ when the witness on their next case reports her husband was killed by the incredible hulk. It then only gets weirder after the trickster zaps them into some awful soap about doctors that Dean is desperately trying (and failing) to pretend not to be a fan of. 

Dean slams the Doctor -  _ Doctor Sexy, apparently  _ \- into the wall. 

“You’re not the real Dr. Sexy. A part of what makes Dr. Sexy sexy is the fact that he wears cowboy boots, not tennis shoes,” he spits and Sam can’t resist the urge to roll his eyes. Right, and Dean’s not a fan  _ at all _ . Dean glances over his shoulder and glares at his brother. “It’s a guilty pleasure, okay?” he says defensively.

The Doctor grins, and Dean stares as his face warps and twists until the Trickster’s mischievous eyes are glinting at them. 

“You guys are getting good!” he says, utterly unfazed by the fact that Dean looks ready to punch him. 

“Where the hell are we?” Dean shouts, shoving the Trickster back against the wall. Irritation flickers over the Trickster’s face, before he grabs one of Dean’s arms and pushes. Dean stumbles back, caught off guard by the Trickster’s strength. 

“Do you like it?” he says with a grin. “This is my own personal idiot box.” He shoots them both a pointed look and then winks. 

“Whatever,” Sam cuts in, because they really can’t afford to miss the chance to gain such a powerful ally and he has a feeling that Dean isn’t in the mood to play the good cop. “We just need to talk to you - we need your help.” The trickster tilts his head and hums in mock thought. 

“Let me guess, you two idiots broke the world and you want me to sweep your mess up for you?” He sighs. “I’ll tell you what, if you can survive the next twenty-four hours, we’ll talk.” Dean immediately tenses up. 

“Survive what?” he barks, pressing the Trickster back against the wall again with a shove. The Trickster’s expression turns angry for a moment and he jerks his head. Dean goes stumbling back at the pressure of some kind of unseen force. Then the Trickster’s smiling in that carefree way again.

“The game!” 

“What game?” Dean snaps, but it’s too late. Where the Trickster had stood before is now just an empty space. “Son of a bitch…” Dean mutters. He has the feeling this is going to be one of the longest twenty four hours of his life. 

First, the trickster has them finish the episode of Dr Sexy - Dean nearly dying on what’s supposed to be Sam’s operating table in the process. Then it’s a game show, then a soap, then a tween high school romance, then an advert for genital herpes cream because apparently the Trickster is an eight year old. The Trickster zaps them from one channel to another so fast that it’s impossible to formulate a plan from the whiplash they get every time they’re given a new role. 

“How long do we have to keep doing this?” Dean whispers through a false smile as a hollow laugh track echoes through the green sitcom set. 

“I don’t know… Maybe forever?” Sam replies and there’s another burst of laughter. “We might die in here.” His smile falters. The laughter seems louder than ever. Dean’s face twists into an expression of disgust because this is his  _ life  _ and he refuses to die with a goddamn laugh track playing over his suffering.

A knock at the door cuts the laughter short. A thud follows, louder this time. Then, with a bang, the door flies open and in walks Cas. Dean only feels relieved for a moment before he notices the cuts and bruises across the angel’s face. Dean has tried to punch Cas before and his knuckles had ached for three days afterwards. He has no idea what the hell could rough an angel up like that, and he’s not sure he wants to find out.

“Cas, are you okay?” He asks.

“I don’t have much time,” Cas replies, the urgency in his voice doing nothing to help Dean’s nerves. “Listen to me, something isn’t right here, this thing is much more powerful than it should be, if it really even is a trickster-”

Cas’ body slams against the wall like a doll thrown by a child and – to Dean’s horror - collapses in a heap. Sam makes a start towards him, but only takes two steps before the door swings open again and in walks the Trickster. The room is filled with thunderous applause and the Trickster waves gleefully. Dean’s worry for Cas wavers just long enough for him to wonder how the hell the Trickster can be so damn full of himself.

“Hi Castiel!” the Trickster says gleefully, waving his fingers in the angel’s direction. Cas turns to face him (mouth now miraculously covered with duct tape) and his eyes widen for just a second before he glares. Unfazed, the Trickster snaps his fingers and Cas disappears into a burst of static. Dean feels sick. He look of surprise on Cas’ face had almost been fearful, something he’d never seen on the angel’s face before.

“You know him?” Sam asks.

“Where did you just send him?” asks Dean at the same time. The Trickster shrugs his shoulders and waves a dismissive hand. Dean has  _ had it _ . “All right, we get it, okay? Playing our roles, right? That’s the damn game?” he snaps. The Trickster makes a thoughtful expression.

“That’s  _ half _ the game,” he replies.

“Then what’s the other half?” Sam asks. The Trickster turns to him and grins.

“Play your roles out there!” he says, flinging his arms wide. Then he looks from Sam to Dean and back again, a small smirk on his face. “You know: Sam starring as Lucifer, Dean starring as Michael.  Your celebrity death match.  _ Play your roles _ . It’s written out for you right on your arms, surely even you two knuckleheads could understand that.” There’s a glint of something in his eye now that wasn’t there before, but Dean quite can’t place what it is.

“You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?” Sam says, trying to resist the urge to scratch at his arm that’s developed every time someone mentions his soulmark. “We do that and the world will end.” The Tricksters smirk turns cruel.

“Yeah? Whose fault is that? Who popped Lucifer out of the box, hmm?” He says. Sam looks away, feeling Dean watching him as he does so. “Look, it’s started –  _ you _ started it. It can’t be stopped, so let’s get it over with!” He rubs his hands together gleefully, but Dean could swear it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Heaven, hell, which side you on?” Dean asks. “You’re grabbing ankle for Michael or Lucifer. Which one is it?” The Trickster’s smile vanishes abruptly.

“I don’t work for either of those sons of bitches, believe me. Don’t you ever presume to know what I am,” he says, voice low and angry. Something clicks in Dean’s mind. “Here’s what’s gonna happen: you’re gonna suck it up and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you. Because if you don’t, you’ll stay here in TV land forever.” He shoots them each one last dark smile and then disappears in a burst of static. The lights in the set seem to have gotten dimmer as the Trickster had grown more serious, and it’s blessedly free from the sound of the laugh tracks.

“You heard Cas – this thing is too powerful to be a trickster,” Sam says, brows furrowing in thought. “And did you see how pissed he got when you brought up– when you brought up the archangels?” Dean pushes the way Sam’s been avoiding saying Lucifer’s name to the back of his mind and tries to focus.

“And the way he looked at Cas… It was like he knew him,” Dean adds. He paces as he thinks, aware of Sam watching him. The information is all  _ right there _ , he just can’t quite put it together. More powerful than an angel, his anger at Michael and Lucifer, knowing who Cas is – “Son of a bitch, I think I know what we’re dealing with,” he says.

Sam opens his mouth to ask what, but it’s lost in a burst of static as they’re zapped back into the episode of Knight Rider for what Dean thinks may be the fourth time. The Trickster must think seeing Sam as a living car is hilarious, but the fact that it’s the Impala was a stupid mistake. Because with the Impala comes all the supplies they need to catch this son of a bitch.

Tricking the Trickster is deceptively easy. Dean only has to yell that they’ll say yes once and he appears, turning Sam back into a (understandably ruffled) human with the snap of his fingers. He’s so busy being smug that he doesn’t even notice the ring of holy oil until Sam tosses the lighter into it and the whole thing lights up.

The Trickster looks around and claps slowly. Static bursts through the air one more time and then they’re back in the warehouse. Dean lets out a breath. He’s had enough of being zapped to parallel dimensions and different TV-lands in the last few weeks to last him  _ several _ lifetimes. Something about the damp smell of the warehouse is comforting after the slightly plastic smell that all the sets had seemed to share.

“Well played boys,” the Trickster says, surveying the warehouse. “Where’d I screw up?”

“You didn’t. Nobody gets the jump on Cas like you did,” Sam replies. “So which angel are you?” The Trickster’s face scrunches up for a moment, and then he sighs defeatedly.

“Gabriel, okay? - Yes,  _ that _ Gabriel,” he adds, seeing the look of shock on Sam’s face. “I became the Trickster a long time ago. Skipped out of Heaven, had a face transplant, joined the pagans. It’s not like Dad was there to say no – or anything, for that matter.” He huffs out a bitter laugh.

Dean snorts and says, “Well, I can’t say I blame you. Your brothers are heavyweight douchenozzles.” Gabriel’s expression turns dark.

“Shut your mouth. You don’t know anything about my family,” he spits, taking half a step forward. The flames cast strange shapes over his face and he looks inhuman in a way he never has done before. “I love my father, my brothers. But watching them tear at each other’s throats? I couldn’t bear it, okay? So I left. And now it’s happening all over again and I have to sit back and watch them kill each other thanks to you two! I don’t care who wins. I just want it to be over.” He slumps, eyes watching the flames dance. He looks exhausted.

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Sam says softly. “There has to be some way to pull the plug.” Gabriel laughs bitterly and shakes his head.

“You do not know my family. This isn’t about a war. It’s about two brothers who loved each other and betrayed each other. You’d think you’d be able to relate,” he says. He looks up, sees the matching confused expressions on Sam and Dean’s faces and laughs again. “You two sorry sons of bitches still don’t get it, do you? Think about it – why are you two the perfect vessels? Michael: big brother, loyal to his absent father. Lucifer: little brother, rebellious of Daddy’s plan. It was always going to be you. As it is on Heaven, so it must me on Earth. Ever since Dad flipped the lights on around here, it was always gonna end with you.  _ Always _ .” Sam looks at the ground.

“That’s never going to happen,” he hears Dean say. He doesn’t want to look up; wishes Gabriel could have said anything other than echoing Lucifer’s words.

“I’m sorry, but it is,” Gabriel says, and Sam honestly believes he’s being genuine. “This is gonna end bloody for all of us. I wish it didn’t have be this way but it has to be.”

There’s a long stretch of silence. Sam’s aware that Gabriel is watching him thoughtfully and desperately avoids looking the angel in the eyes. Luckily, Dean takes that moment to walk up to the ring of holy fire and glare down Gabriel.

“Well, if none of this really matters then why don’t you bring back Cas from wherever you stashed him?” He growls, clearly more of a demand than a question. “Or we’re going to dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. Then he snaps his fingers and when Dean turns around Cas is there. The bruises and scratches are gone and he feels the tension leave him. Cas is here; Cas is safe. Dean grabs Cas’ shoulders and quietly asks him if he’s okay. The angel nods.

“I’m fine,” he says and Dean swears he smiles ever so slightly. Dean grins, gently squeezing his shoulders. Behind him, Gabriel makes a gagging noise and tells them to please, just get a room. Dean turns and glares at him. He then glares at Sam, the traitor, who nearly laughs. Sam meets Dean’s eyes, trying to keep a straight face as he tilts his head in a _ ‘he has a point, you know’ _ way that Dean is going to  _ ignore _ .

“Okay, we’re out of here. Let’s go,” Dean says, turning and striding towards the door. Sam and Cas follow him. Behind them, Gabriel is shouting, panic creeping into his voice, unsure if they’re really going to leave him there to rot forever. Dean stops in the doorway and turns. “We’ll let you out. Because we don’t screw with people the way you do. And for the record? This isn’t about some prize-fight between your brothers, or Sam and I having some stupid destiny that can’t be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family.” Gabriel looks down. Dean turns away and pulls the fire alarm. The sprinklers turn on. Dean leaves, not bothering to look back.

Sam and Cas watch Gabriel for a while before Cas turns to follow Dean outside. Sam catches his eyes and smiles. To his surprise, Cas nods back. Sam spins on his heels and begins to make for the door too.

“Sam?” Gabriel says. Sam pauses and looks back over his shoulder. He can’t quite make out Gabriel’s face from this far away. The flames have burnt low now, almost gone. “When you see Lucifer, tell him I say hi. And… That I miss him.” Sam’s stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch. The fire goes out and Gabriel is gone. Sam sucks in a breath. Had he known Lucifer kept showing up in Sam’s head somehow? Or did he really believe that the Apocalypse was just that inevitable?

Cas leaves not long after Sam emerges from the warehouse and Dean tries not to feel disappointed. They drive back towards the edge of town and crash in the motel there, too exhausted to drive any further without at least a few hours sleep. Dean kicks his shoes off, dumps his bag at the end of his bed and promptly falls straight asleep. 

Sam watches his brother, shaking his head and chuckling just a little and trying not to envy the easy way his brother can let himself sleep. He takes his time, brushing his teeth, showering, changing, before reluctantly crawling into bed.

Lucifer is there when his eyes open as he is so often these days. He sits on a chair across from the motel bed where Sam lays, watching him curiously. The only light in the room streams through the open curtains of the window, but when Sam glances at it, there’s nothing beyond the glass but a grey void. Sam thinks he can hear the soft patter of rain on the roof. 

“Gabriel says hi,” he says. Lucifer is normally still unless he’s talking, and even then his gestures are slow and deliberate. But Sam watches the Devil freeze completely, not even breathing or blinking. “And also, he says he misses you.” Sam knows he should relish this triumph - he has the upper hand on the devil - but instead he feels something soften in his chest. Lucifer’s eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable in a way Sam’s never seen him before. Then Lucifer sighs, and his vessel’s chest settles back into a rhythm of rising and falling that Sam now realises is a display for his comfort rather than a necessity for the angel. 

“I hope he didn’t cause you too much trouble? He always was fond of pranks,” Lucifer says, lips twitching into a small smile. Then it disappears, mouth setting into a hard line as he studies Sam’s face. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Sam makes a dubious noise in the back of his throat. 

“Not… Severely,” he says, because it’s technically true. Sam had gotten slapped in the face about twelve times in different melodramatic soaps and on one notably painful occasion a pole to the groin on a gameshow, but Dean had been the one who’d gotten shot during their time in TV Land. “Mostly my pride,” he admits. 

“That sounds like Gabriel,” Lucifer says, the lines around his eyes creasing in a way Sam hasn’t seen before. It’s only when Lucifer lets out a quiet breath that Sam understands Lucifer is laughing. “I remember him convincing Raphael that our father wanted him to combine a duck and a beaver in some way. By the time Michael and I found out -” Lucifer cuts himself off, the laughter dying in his throat. The resigned face he makes is one Sam is beginning to know all too well.

“When Dean and I were younger, we used to have prank wars,” he says hesitantly. Lucifer tilts his head, leaning closer. Sam finds himself mirroring his posture. “It was all stupid stuff - oil on the bathroom floor, putting salt in the sugar, whoopie cushions in the Impala. We used to drive dad nuts, but every now and then, if things were good, he’d even join in.” He laughs to himself. Lucifer is smiling at him warmly. The room seems lighter somehow, the light from the window coming in purple rather than the grey of the storm. The rain keeps falling, but it feels comfortable now. Almost cosy. He notices he’s smiling at Lucifer and turns, staring out into the void outside the window as rain hits the glass. 

“Sam,” Lucifer says and then hesitates. “This can’t last forever. Without you as my vessel I can’t -” Sam stands up abruptly.

“I would like to wake up now,” he says. Lucifer has that sad look on his face again and Sam won’t let himself feel guilty.

“I’m not holding you here, Sam, and I never will,” Lucifer tells him. “I’ve spent far too long trapped in cages to do the same thing to you.” Lucifer reaches out and brushes a cold hand ever so gently down Sam’s face. Sam doesn’t doesn’t push Lucifer away. He breathes out shakily, a feeling of rightness he’s never felt before settling in his chest and it’s too much - he can’t let Lucifer get this close. He turns his face away from his soulmate’s touch.

Sam wakes up. Dawn is just arriving, and a faintly purple light enters the room through a crack in the curtains. An old ache settles in his chest, a loneliness he’s known his whole life but never noticed until it was gone for a brief moment with Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was one of my favourites to write so far, I think.  
> Fun Fic Fact #8: I wrote this chapter sweating my ass off in 38 degrees heat (or 100 if you're american) last summer after I finished my exams.


	9. Chapter Eight

When Dean gets the call from Cas saying he’d tracked the demon with the Colt down to his base, the weight on Dean’s shoulders feels just a little lighter than it had since before their run in with Gabriel. He can’t bring himself to completely relax when the threat of an archangel wearing him as a meatsuit looms so large, but having a lead is still an improvement. The Colt may only give them a snowball’s chance in Hell, but at least they’ve actually  _ got _ a chance now. All they need to do is steal a gun from a demon, track down the Devil and put a bullet through his head. Simple. He tells Sam they’ve got a lead and his brother nods jerkily. He doesn’t seem to share Dean’s optimism that they might actually kill the Devil - not yet, anyway.

Infiltrating the mansion the demon - Crowley, according to Cas - lives in is fairly straightforward with Jo and Ellen’s help. Until they realise that Crowley and his goons had been expecting them. Dean struggles against the demon’s unmoving arms locked around his throat. Out of the corner of his eye he can make out Sam doing the same. Crowley watches for a moment, looking bored, before he pulls a gun out of his pocket and studies it. Dean stills. 

“This is it, right? This is what you’re after?” Crowley says, the colt gleaming sharply in his hand. He turns to Dean, winks so fast he thinks he might have just been seeing things, and fires two shots. On reflex Dean jerks, eyes flying shut for just a split second.

And he’s still alive. Sam next to him looks equally as alive and perplexed as they glance over their shoulders at the bodies of the two demons, each with a bullet hole in the exact centre of their foreheads. 

“What the hell is this?” he asks. Demons are backstabbing sons of bitches but this is just plain stupid. Crowley eyes the colt with immense distaste.

“Do you know how deep I could have buried this thing? Nobody should know that this thing exists - except that I told you, of course. Rumours on the grapevine and all that.” The corner of his mouth twitches and he points the gun at Dean’s head. Sam goes tense beside his brother.

“Well then, why? Why tell us anything?” Sam asks, his eyes fixed on Crowley’s perfectly steady trigger finger. Crowley’s eyes flick to him but his hand doesn't move.

“I want you to take this thing to Lucifer and empty it into his face,” Crowley says cooly. The confusion must show on their faces because he rolls his eyes and, heaving a harassed sigh, places the colt on the solid oak table beside him. ”I forgot that you two are, at best, functioning morons. This is about survival. Lucifer isn’t a demon, he’s an angel. An angel who infamously hates humankind. And if he hates you then, well, what must he think about us demons, eh? Oh sure, he created us, but we’re just cannon fodder to him. If he exterminates humankind we’re next. So you help me and we can all get back to simpler times. So what do you say; I give you this thing and you go kill the devil?”

There’s silence for a moment as Crowley’s words sink in. The demon holds the Colt out - barrel first - and looks at them both expectantly. Sam glances over at his brother and Dean nods slowly. 

“Great,” Sam says, reaching out and taking the Colt gingerly from Crowley’s hand. He looks down at it, the weight feeling heavy in his hands. The gun that can kill the devil. Lucifer. Sam tries to swallow the lump that’s somehow formed in his throat. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the Devil is, would you?” He asks, trying to ignore that tiny, traitorous part in the back of his mind that wants Crowley to have no idea where Lucifer is. 

“A little birdy told me,” Crowley says, because since when have Sam’s wishes ever come true, “There’s an appointment in Carthage, Missouri this Thursday.” Sam taps the barrel of the gun against his palm and nods.

“Great. Thanks,” he says. He and Dean exchange a look. Dean nods imperceptibly. Sam draws the barrel of the gun between Crowley’s eyes and pulls the trigger. 

There’s a click, and Crowley stares back, completely unfazed and definitely not dead. 

“Oh yeah, you’ll need some more ammunition,” the demon says. He goes to his desk and pulls out a black case. Somehow, without a word, the air seems to grow thicker in a way that makes the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stand on end. The demon looks over his shoulder at them, and his eyes are blood red. “Oh, and by the way boys, by doing this for you I risk suffering a long and rather painful death at the hands of an archangel. So a word of advice? Don’t. Bloody. Miss.” He throws the case at Dean who fumbles the catch a little. When he looks up, Crowley is gone.

They drive back to Bobby’s, Jo and Ellen already having chased out the rest of Crowley’s demons, and crash until the following morning. For the next two days they’re all business because they really  _ really _ can’t afford to mess this up. Sam doesn’t let himself sleep outside of three short naps because, if he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know what he’d do if he were to face Lucifer. It seemed to get harder to remember to hate Lucifer every time Sam saw him, and knowing that in a matter of days they’d be supposed to kill him… It’s easier not to think about the way Lucifer seemed to care for his family, or worse - the way he seemed to care for  _ Sam _ . Easier not to think about the mark that Sam had to avert his eyes from everyday whilst he showered.

And then it’s was Wednesday evening and Sam finds himself watching his brother brood over a bottle of beer, his eyes following the glints of the shot glasses in Ellen, Jo and Cas’ hands. Ellen and Jo are laughing, and even Cas is smiling a little. The alcohol doesn’t seem to be having much of an effect, but Dean thinks the angel is actually enjoying the company, even chuckling at one of Ellen’s dry comments. Music is playing low in the background and Bobby hums along as he moves through the house, a little less surly than usual. It’s nice. Dean almost wishes that they could do this more often.

“You know, I’m surprised you haven’t tried giving Jo the last night on Earth speech yet,” Sam says. “Not that I don’t think it’s smart.” He looks pointedly at Ellen. Dean grins. Cas’ voice rumbles over the music, drawing Dean’s eyes to him. His face is in profile, brow furrowed in the way it does when the humans are doing something irrational and confusing. If Dean squints, the way the light hits his head makes it look like he’s got a visible halo. Do real angels have halos, he wonders? He feels Sam staring at him and abruptly jerks his gaze to look at the ceiling instead. 

“I dunno man, I guess I’m just not feeling it,” he says. Sam looks disbelieving, then looks at Cas who’s sitting beside Jo. A look flashes over his face, too quick for Dean to read it. But Sam doesn’t push, instead taking another sip of his beer. They sit in silence for a minute and Dean thinks it’s about time they address the elephant in the room. “Look, Sam, you know you can’t come with tomorrow, right?”

“Dean I-” Sam starts, but Dean cuts him off.

“No, Sam I’m serious,” he says. “If I go against Satan and screw the pooch, okay, we’ve lost a game piece. But if you’re there, we’re literally handing the devil’s vessel over to him. I’m sorry man.” Sam shakes his head in disbelief.

“Haven’t we learnt a thing Dean?” He says, trying to keep his voice level. “If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it together. We’re stronger that way, remember?” Sam keeps staring at his brother but Dean won’t look him in the eye. Something in his gut tells him he can’t let his brother or his friends go up against this, not without him there to help. Lucifer, if he really does tell the truth, won’t let Sam get hurt, and that might be the only way any of them get out of this alive. But beyond that, something else tells him that - if this really works, if they really kill Lucifer - this will be the only chance he gets to see his soulmate in person. Devil or not, Sam wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if that were the case. Dean finally looks at him and he must understand the urgency in Sam’s eyes. 

“Fine,” he says through gritted teeth. Sam lets his body slump against the back of the chair, letting out a slow, relieved breath. The rest is short lived though, because soon Bobby wheels back into the room and orders them all to get off their asses so he can take a picture to remember them by. Bobby fusses with the camera, then Cas, who doesn’t quite seem to understand where to look. They all bicker as they shuffle into position and Dean sticks his elbow into his brother’s ribs before Bobby barks at them to stop messing around. After the camera flashes, They all crowd around the image. It’s not the most flattering picture of any of them, but it’s nice all the same. 

They begin tidying up bottles and papers - it wouldn’t be wise to fight the Devil hungover, after all. Bobby finishes dumping the last of the shot glasses in the sink and wheels over to Castiel, who’s sitting at the table with the picture in his hands. 

“I suppose the human mind does not remember things clearly enough to remember things without some kind of sensory aid,” Cas says, and Bobby doesn’t know if he’s talking to himself or to him. 

“Well it’s nice to have memories. Especially with knowing so many hunters… Sometimes pictures of the people you care about are all that ends up left,” Cas turns to him, considering. Bobby figures that means he should keep talking. “Besides, even the ones that stick around I don’t get to see very often. It’s nice to have pictures of occasions - even if it is the end of the world.” Cas nods like he understands, then excuses himself to attempt to help Sam moving the last few stacks of books. 

Nobody speaks in the morning as they finish getting ready. When the bags are loaded into the car, Bobby gives each of them a hug - even the angel. Afterward, Dean bundles a slightly ruffled Castiel into the back of the Impala and drives, Sam beside him. Ellen’s car follows behind them, and somehow Dean doesn’t feel up to offering a race to the next town. When he puts on a well-worn Black Sabbath tape and cranks the volume up even louder than usual, Sam doesn’t complain - he needs the noise to distract himself just as much as his brother does does. Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel as he drives, looking back every now and then at the angel sitting in the back seat. Despite himself, a grin works its way onto his face as he watches Castiel study the scuffs and scratches on the side doors and absently run his fingers along the seat stitching.

Sam watches his brother grinning like an idiot at the angel in the backseat and sighs. To be fair to Dean, there are probably more pressing things to think about when the world is ending than whether your feelings for an angel are strictly platonic, but  _ jeez _ Sam is sick of seeing his brother staring at Cas like that. Dean gives Sam a weird look, but Sam ignores it, instead looking out the window at the dull, yellow fields rushing by. The closer they get to Carthage, the less colour the world around them seems to have. It puts Sam on edge. By the time they begin passing houses on the outskirts of the city, everything looks slightly grey and very, very still. 

It’s raining in Carthage, tiny droplets falling in that way that could almost be mistaken for high humidity by a human. Cas exits the Impala, grateful to be out of the confining space. He stretches out his wings above him, invisible to the human eye. Sam and Dean go ahead to check out the police department, but Castiel stays with Ellen and Jo, surveying the streets around them. He sees reapers - dozens of reapers. The kind of numbers only present at times with a  _ very _ high body count. The hunters beside him survey the area suspiciously, unable to see anything but knowing on some level that something is wrong here. With a quiet word to Jo and Ellen, he sets off to discover why they’re gathering like this. Ellen nods and shoots him a reassuring smile that Cas does his best to return. 

When the world turns white and Castiel finds himself standing in a ring of holy fire, he’s not surprised that it had been a trap. But seeing the Morningstar after all these eons, no longer glorious and bright in his anger but burnt with warped wings twisting in ways they aren’t supposed to,  _ that _ makes him stop. Lucifer still shines so brightly even after his fall, but his regality is lost under the soot of Hell and the way he stoops and contorts inside his ill-fitting vessel. 

“Castiel, right?” Lucifer says quietly as he takes one, two steps around the edge of the holy fire. “I take it you’re here with the Winchesters?” Cas hesitates for a moment. 

“I came alone,” He says, carefully maintaining eye contact with Lucifer. Dean had told him that looking away usually meant someone was lying. Lucifer tilts his head towards Castiel, studying him. It’s dark wherever they are, the only light coming from the fire surrounding Cas and reflecting off the damp, leaking pipes above his head. But in the dim glow, he can see Lucifer’s face, covered in angry red burns, vessel nearly bursting from the strain of containing an archangel.

“Loyalty,” Lucifer says approvingly, “is such a nice quality to see these days. Although I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised by your dedication to the Winchesters. It’s understandable, really.” Lucifer’s grace flickers brightly for a moment, flexing against his vessel at the thought of one that would fit so much better. Fierceness swells in Cas’ chest.

“You are not taking Sam Winchester,” he growls, stepping forward until the flames lick dangerously close to his trenchcoat. Lucifer watches him, unconcerned and almost amused. “I won’t let you,” he says, determined to stand his ground. The not-quite-a-smile on Lucifer’s lips only grows wider, as if he’s somehow satisfied by Castiel’s protectiveness.

“Castiel, I don’t understand why you’re fighting me of all the angels,” Lucifer says, ignoring the  _ look _ Cas shoots him. “I rebelled, I was cast out. You rebelled, you were cast out. We’ve both been punished for caring too much. And I care about Sam too. I want him to be happy.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?” Cas asks. Lucifer lets out a disappointed sigh. 

“No. Not yet, anyway,” he replies. They watch one another as the minutes tick past. Lucifer studies him carefully, and in the back of his mind Castiel wonders how long it’s been since Lucifer was this close to another angel without fighting them. After a while, Lucifer speaks again, his tone conversational, “You know, in the timeline Dean visited, the one where I won, I heard you were still loyally following him. You were his soulmate in that universe.”

Cas blinks. He thinks of his bare arm, soulmark obliterated after Jimmy’s soul had left his body.

“No - that’s not possible,” he breathes. “Angels in soulless vessels don’t have soulmarks.” Lucifer raises his hands as if in defeat.

“Well, perhaps it’s true that you aren’t an angel in that timeline,” he concedes, “but that’s beside the point. You care for Dean Winchester, I care for Sam Winchester. We're on the same side here. I need my true vessel and you and the Winchesters don’t want Michael to win this war anymore than I do. Why not just serve your own best interests - which in this case just happen to be mine?” 

For a moment, Castiel could almost believe him. But Lucifer is the father of lies and if he has his true vessel, they’d stand no chance of defeating him. He sets his shoulders back and looks Lucifer in the eye.

“I’ll die first,” he says. Lucifer lets out a disappointed sigh and turns away from him, twisted wings dipping through the air.

“Yes,” the Devil murmurs sadly, “I suppose you will.”

Cas doesn’t let himself dwell on whether that’s a threat or not - he needs to focus on escaping. A drop of water falls onto his shoulder from a pipe above him. He looks up at it, follows it until he sees a spigot just over Lucifer’s head. He’ll have to wait for his chance - if he tries to push his grace beyond the circle, the chances of it being noticed by an archangel are too high for him to risk just yet.

An hour or so goes by before the silence between the two angels is interrupted by the arrival of Meg. She grins at Cas and waves at him before she faces Lucifer. 

“I’ve got the Winchesters pinned down in a convenience store downtown,” she tells Lucifer gleefully. Cas silently curses himself for letting himself get captured. If he’d been there… 

“Very good,” Lucifer says and Meg preens. “I trust you did not harm them?” Castiel frowns at that, remembering the techniques Michael had permitted Zachariah to use against Dean. It would certainly be in Lucifer’s best interests to capture Sam and kill the rest. Meg grins wolfishly. 

“The Winchesters are fine. One of the doggies took a chunk out of one of the chicks with them, though,” She recounts gleefully. Cas makes an aborted step towards the demon. Lucifer catches the movement and studies Castiel for a moment before he turns back to Meg, his face stern. 

“You will call the hellhounds off. We cannot risk harming Sam -  _ or _ his companions. Those humans are not expendable to my vessel, and so they will be left alone and  _ unharmed _ .” The command in his voice does not go unnoticed by Castiel - or Meg, who looks suddenly nervous. Then Lucifer’s expression relaxes, and he rests a hand on either side of the demon’s face. The dark mass of the demon inside its vessel stretches towards the archangel’s grace. Lucifer looks unperturbed. “Trust me, child. Everything happens for a reason,” he tells her and she nods. 

“Yes, Lucifer,” she says. Lucifer pulls his hands away and Meg understands the silent dismissal. She shoots one last wink at a dreadfully confused looking Castiel and teleports away.    


She reappears outside of the convenience store a moment later and sees the hounds still pawing at the doors. Letting out a disappointed sigh, she puts two fingers in her mouth and lets out a loud whistle. The hounds are well trained, and they stop immediately, one with its claws still embedded into the white storefront. The outline of a head - Dean’s, she thinks - appears in the darkened window. She waves her fingers at him. 

“It’s your lucky day folks! I’m calling the hellhounds off - boss’ orders,” she shouts. Dean ducks back down into the store, relaying her words to Ellen and Sam, whose face seems to grow paler at the reference to Lucifer. “Sorry to cut the fun short but the main event is gonna be starting soon and I want to get a front row seat. Sam’s invited too, if he wants to come...? No? Well, I’ll see you crazy kids later.” Dean peaks through the glass again.

“She’s gone,” Dean calls over his shoulder. He doesn’t believe for a second that the hellhounds aren’t waiting to tear them to shreds, but he turns his eyes to focus on Jo. There’s an angry red stain on her right leg where the hellhound had got her that’s slowly seeping through the makeshift bandage Ellen had wrapped around her leg. 

“Dean, we have to get them out of here,” Sam says. Ellen doesn’t look up from her daughter but Dean knows she’s listening, she’s too good a hunter not to pay attention even at a time like this. “Listen, Dean, I don’t trust Meg anymore than you do, but if she says Lucifer told her to call the hellhounds off then…”

“So you don’t trust a demon, but you will trust Satan? Come on Sam!” Dean says. Jo mumbles something and Ellen hushes her. Finally Ellen looks up, face steely. 

“She can’t stay here. I need to get Jo to a hospital  _ now _ , hellhounds or no,” she tells them. “I know it’s a risk, but if we don’t take it then my daughter have a chance  _ at all. _ ” Dean curses under his breath and turns back to the window. The street looks deserted, but the thought of hellhounds waiting for them on just the other side of the door…. 

God, why did it have to be hellhounds?

“Ellen’s right, we have to take that chance,” Sam says, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and pulling him to face away from the window. Sam looks at him, face earnest and urgent. “It sounds crazy, but I know Lucifer won’t hurt me, and if we want to get Jo out of here we have to trust he won’t hurt them either.”

Dean scoffs, “You’re asking us to trust the Devil? And why the hell do you  _ know _ what the Devil thinks-”

“Hey! Will you two shut the hell up?” Ellen snaps, “Because if my daughter bleeds out because you two couldn’t stop butting heads I swear-” Jo mumbles something again and the fierce look in Ellen’s eyes softens as she turns to her daughter. Jo attempts a weak smile and Ellen smoothes her hair away from her face with a shaking hand. Sam shoots Dean a pleading look and Dean lets out a breath. He  _ really _ hates this plan.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go,” he says. Ellen and Sam both nod. 

Dean tries to protest when Sam insists on being the first out the door, but is cut off a glare from Ellen. Once it seems the hellhounds really are gone, Sam and Dean each grab an end of the makeshift stretcher Ellen had put together and move as quickly and carefully as they can towards her car. It takes them a few minutes to position the stretcher in the car, both brothers hesitant to risk jolting Jo’s leg, Ellen watching them like a hawk.

“You boys stay safe,” she says, pulling them into a quick hug once the car doors are closed. “Bobby and I can’t afford for you both to end up in hospital too.” Sam and Dean both chuckle and Ellen squeezes them tighter for a moment. And then she pulls away. With one last smile, she climbs into the driver’s seat and floors the gas. 

It takes them thirty minutes to tune the radio on the police station to a frequency Bobby can hear, but their phones aren’t working and they can’t just go into hunting Lucifer blind. When they finally get hold of him, they recount the town’s emptiness and the reapers Ellen had mentioned Cas seeing. They hear the muffled sound of pages turning for a moment, and then Bobby curses.

“Boys, I think Satan’s in town to work a ritual,” Bobby says, his voice coming through in bursts through the static, “I reckon he’s planning to unleash Death. Not just any old reaper, we’re talking the horseman -  _ Capital D Death _ . Last time they hauled this guy up, Noah was building a boat.” Sam and Dean exchange a look, but Dean can’t quite read his brother’s face. Sam tries to keep his face neutral and listen to Bobby carefully, smothering the part of him that feels like this is some kind of betrayal. 

It takes Bobby a little longer to work out where exactly the ritual is going down - a battlesite from during the civil war - and then they say their goodbyes, all painfully aware this may be the last time they speak to the one another. Then they leave, Dean clutching the Colt in his hand. Sam’s eyes drift to the gun over and over. This is it. They’re going to kill Lucifer. He knows he should be ready to kill the Devil. Lucifer wants to wipe out humanity - and do it wearing Sam like a skinsuit. But he doesn’t. Some part of him wonders if maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to stop this without bloodshed. 

Dean clears his throat.  _ No, _ Sam thinks,  _ this is happening. This needs to happen.  _

He almost lets himself believe it.

In the stories Sam would read sometimes when he was young, holed up in the library of some dingy, nameless town, as the prince approached the princess’ tower his soulmark would begin to ache. As time had gone on, of course, he had learnt they were just stories. Sure, plenty of people claimed to feel an itch in their arm when they met their other half, but these days Sam thought it was more the result of having watched one too many rom-coms. 

Or at least, he did up until they creep closer to where Lucifer is waiting and his arm  _ burns _ . But there’s no time to think about it, and with one final nod, Dean leaves, moving silently through the treeline to wait. Sam has to make a conscious effort not to grab hold of his burning arm as he looks through the branches. He sees rows of men standing silently, looking uphill. He follows the direction they face and sees Lucifer, looking small and deceptively human as he shovels dirt into a pit. Sam takes a deep breath. The air smells like ozone and dirt. This is it. 

“Lucifer!” Sam yells, stepping out from the trees into the moonlight. “You wanted to see me?” He can feel his hands shaking a little, and readies the shotgun in his hands. Lucifer stands up, dropping the shovel. When he turns around, Sam is momentarily taken aback. Angry burns leave Lucifer’s face covered in dark blotches that make Sam wince. Lucifer smiles at him and god, it’s all too familiar. Something in the lines around Lucifer’s eyes makes Sam feel warm even as his hands grip tighter on the gun. The moon hangs low in the sky, framing Lucifer’s head like a ring of light.

“Oh, Sam, you don’t need that gun here,” the Devil says, brushing dirt from his hands. He doesn’t blink, doesn’t look away and something in the back of Sam’s mind wonders if Lucifer can see into his soul. The thought makes him squirm a little. “You know I’d never hurt you,” Lucifer adds. And the worst part is, Sam really does know. It’s not just that Lucifer called the hellhounds off, something - intuition, instinct, naivety or whatever - trusts Lucifer just as much as his mind tells him he shouldn’t. So he nods jerkily, even as he sees Dean creeping up behind Lucifer. The Colt gleams in his hand.

“Yeah?” says Dean, and Sam watches as Lucifer’s face falls. He holds Sam’s eyes for a moment longer, looking resigned and betrayed in a way the Devil should have no right to do. “Well, I’d hurt you,” Dean says, bringing the Colt up just inches away from Lucifer’s face. Lucifer finally drags his eyes from Sam and turns towards the barrel of the gun. The gunshot rings out and Sam watches the Devil, Lucifer, his  _ soulmate _ collapse into the dirt. 

For a moment, neither brother moves. Then Dean looks from the body to the gun in his hands to his brother. The tension drains out from his shoulders and there’s a smile on his face brighter than any Sam has seen in years. The apocalypse is averted. Not only is Sam safe now, but so is he. Michael and his goons won’t have a reason to be breathing down his neck if he doesn’t need a vessel for the big fight. He looks hopeful in a way he hasn’t quite managed to since before his soulmark appeared. Dean grins at him and Sam smiles stiffly back. 

It’s over. Sam thinks he should be happier about that.

And then it’s not. 

Lucifer’s body arches unnaturally, hovering for a moment as it sucks in a wheezing breath. A sudden wind whips around, making Sam’s eyes sting and water. Through his blurry vision, he makes out the vague shape of six huge things arching around the body that he thinks must be wings. Dean stumbles back a step, watching in horror as Lucifer pulls himself to his feet, massaging his head like he’s walked into a door frame rather than had a bullet through his skull. Point blank. With a gun that’s supposed to kill anything. Sam blinks hard and the impressions of Lucifer’s wings disappear, leaving him feeling dazed and not quite processing the fact that Lucifer is alive.

“Where did you get that?” Lucifer asks. Dean stares, frozen in place. Why the hell didn’t the Colt kill him? When he doesn’t say anything, something angry sparks in Lucifer’s eyes and then he’s flying through the air. Sam shouts, snapping out of the haze in his mind as Lucifer flings his brother back, his head smacking into a tree. He falls to the ground, limp like Lucifer had been moments before. Sam runs towards him, checks his pulse -still beating, thank god- and growls at Lucifer. Despite his anger at Dean moments ago, Lucifer is calm as he watches Sam hold his brother.

“Don’t feel too bad, Sam. There are only five things in all of creation that gun can’t kill and I just happen to be one of them,” Lucifer says. He turns his back to Sam, beginning to dig once more. Sam watches him, feeling unable to move. If he ran then he thinks Lucifer would let him, but he has no idea how badly Dean’s been hurt “I don’t suppose you’d just say yes here and now? That’s crazy right?” Lucifer says, interrupting Sam’s train of thought, pausing with the shovel buried in the ground.

“It’s never gonna happen!” Sam spits. Lucifer sighs, tilting his head to face Sam fully. 

“Sam, I think we both know that’s not true.” Lucifer walks down the hill and pauses in front on a kneeling Sam. Sam’s hands tighten on the fabric of his brother’s jacket, twisting his body to put himself between his brother and the Devil. Lucifer crouches down. He holds Sam’s gaze for a long moment. This close Sam can see the way that the burns on Lucifer’s face make his blue eyes shine brighter. Then those eyes trail down Sam’s arm to where his mark is under his jacket. Sam draws his arm back, the action feeling so wrong when his soulmate is waiting right in front of him. Lucifer sighs. “I think it’s going to happen soon, within six months. And I think it’ll happen in Detroit. I know it seems like a lot but I promise, we can be happy together.” Sam looks at the ground and shakes his head. 

“What did you do to this town?” He asks softly. Lucifer leans back a little and Sam is grateful for the air. Behind him, he can see the rows of men standing, eyes still fixed on the hole Lucifer was digging. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Oh, I was generous with this town,” Lucifer says, standing up again. After a second he extends a hand - slowly, as if he hasn’t done it before- to Sam. He glares at it, and Lucifer looks almost disappointed. Then he turns to face the men, setting his shoulders back and studying them dispassionately with hands clasped behind his back and a faint wrinkle of distaste in is brow. “I gave one demon to every able bodied man,” he tells Sam. 

Sam suddenly feels cold all over. “And the rest of them?” He asks. Lucifer pauses for a long moment. Then he turns back to Sam, expression softer but no less thoughtful. Lucifer looks down at Sam in a way that makes Sam feel more vulnerable than he has in a long time.

“In there,” Lucifer says, gesturing towards the pit. “It’s awful, I know, but these horsemen are so demanding. I know what you must think of me, but I have to do this. I have to.” Sam shakes his head - god, how could he not have seen it before? Lucifer looks at him pleadingly, like he needs Sam to understand. But the Devil has nearly wiped out a whole town and Sam feels so angry that he doesn’t care about whatever connection they shared anymore. 

Because he  _ had  _ cared before. He hadn’t wanted to, but when they were sat in that dark room together talking about the world and their siblings and fucking prank wars... Lucifer had manipulated him into caring, into thinking that there was a chance that he could stop the apocalypse because he _ mattered _ to the Devil. 

“You son of a bitch…” Sam spits. Lucifer has the nerve to look upset.

“You of all people should understand,” Lucifer says, sounding genuinely confused. Sam refuses to look up. Lucifer always sounds so genuine it hurts. But not as much as his actions have hurt the people of this town. He stares at a patch of grass beside Dean’s face and ignores the Devil. He doesn’t owe it to anyone - not even his soulmate - to listen to their justifications for murder. He hears Lucifer sigh defeatedly and walk down the hill towards the demons.

Lucifer instructs them to repeat after him, but Sam loses his focus on the incantation as Dean’s eyes begin to flutter. He’s slowly beginning to sit up when Castiel appears beside them, pressing a finger to his lips. The angel silently places a hand on each of the hunters. Sam catches Lucifer watching him out of the corner of his eye for a split second before they’re gone. 

It takes Dean’s eyes a minute to adjust to the bright light. He hears Bobby curse loudly, startled by the sudden appearance of three people in his living room. The pounding in his skull is gone, and he offers Cas a small but appreciative smile. Cas smiles back, a barely noticeable crinkle at the corner of his eyes. His hand is still pressed onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean doesn’t shake it off. He feels like he’s earnt a little comforting after the mission had gone so spectacularly wrong. 

Bobby wheels over and pulls Sam into a hug. He looks just as shaken as Dean feels. 

“I just got off the phone with Ellen,” Bobby says. “The doctors reckon Jo’s gonna be alright. It’ll take a few months for her to be back on her feet but…” He doesn’t say ‘but she’s alive’, but the boys hear it anyway. Sam crumples into an armchair and Dean flops onto the nearby sofa. Cas hovers for a moment, and then gingerly sits beside Dean, carefully trying to mimic his posture. The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches, but he can’t quite manage a smile - not when the threat of the apocalypse is still looming. 

Not when they’re all out of ideas. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter was a beast. The Fun Fic Fact is that this was the first chapter that I really noticed I was diverging from canon in. Not just in Jo and Ellen living (because honestly, they deserved better), but also in the tone, I think?  
> Anyways. Hope you enjoyed reading! Thanks as always to my beta Kaye for being an angel (pun not intended). Comments are appreciated! :)


	10. Chapter Nine

For the next few weeks, they alternate between trying to come up with a plan and visiting Jo and Ellen. It’s the worst kind of routine, where despite doing the same thing over and over they never really feel like they make any progress. After a few weeks, Dean feels ready to climb the walls. But then Cas appears abruptly in their motel and tells them that Anna’s set out to kill their parents and stop Sam ever being born, and he wants nothing more than to go back to their shitty but safer routine. Especially when Sam gets that look in his eyes for a moment, as if he considers being a martyr as an actual option. But Dean’ll be damned again before he lets his brother die of anything other than old age next time, so he shoots his brother a look and firmly says _ no _ . 

It takes them a while to convince Cas to let them come back with him, but his protests of not having enough power now that he’s cut off from Heaven stop when he realises Dean’s not going to back down and time is growing short. They pack lightly, holy oil and Cas’ angel blade going in the duffel bag alongside a couple of guns that may not do much against an angel, but after all these years, make the hunters feel safer anyway. Sam swings the bag onto his shoulder and the jars of oil clink together. 

Being teleported through time does not ever get any less jarring, Dean considers, as one moment Cas’ hand is on his forehead in the motel and the next they’re in the middle of a road, a car screeching to a halt inches away from them. They move towards the sidewalk, but Cas is unsteady on his feet and Dean grabs his shoulder to keep him steady. Dean feels a little sick as he stumbles again and Sam has to grab his other side to keep him up. This wouldn’t have happened if he had just let Cas deal with Anna alone. 

“Cas?” He says, and the angel’s eyes meet his. “Hey, take it easy alright?” Cas takes a step forward, brow creasing with effort.

“I’m fine,” the angel says, then promptly passes out. 

They carry Cas to the nearest motel, where Sam searches for ‘Winchesters’ in the phone book as Dean carries Cas up to the suite and deposits him carefully on a bed. Dean had once almost broke a knuckle punching Cas in the face, but now his body is entirely limp. His coat bunches around his shoulders as if he’s buried his face in it, and Cas has never looked any less angelic. Dean would probably find it cute, if it wasn’t his fault, and if there wasn’t this gnawing feeling in his gut like this is too close to what Cas had been like in that other timeline. Too human. And now, they have to leave him here, completely vulnerable if something decided it wanted to take a bite out of an angel. 

“He’ll be alright,” Sam says as they walk towards the address he had found. It sounds like he’s trying to be reassuring, but Dean can hear the question in his voice too

It’s Mary that opens the door. Dean does the talking because Sam can’t stop acting like a total weirdo. Dean knows it’s understandable really, seeing as he’s staring at their parents - one of which he probably can’t even remember properly. John smiles at them warmly, unaffected by Mary’s bizarre cousins, and invites them in for a drink. After he brings through a few beers, Mary asks Dean if she could talk to him for just a sec, and Sam is left alone with his dad in the living room. 

He grips the bottle in his hands and tries not to stare at his father’s soulmark - he  _ knows  _ he’s being rude - but he can’t help himself. He knows the shape and curve of the letters after years of his dad not caring enough to cover it up, but the letters of  _ Mary Campbell _ are clear cut and black, far from the faded scars he’d grown up seeing. 

John clears his throat and Sam looks away, sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” he stammers, but John just laughs good-naturedly. 

“It’s alright,” he says. “I know it’s sappy but I really don’t mind people seeing. Meeting Mary was like… Well, fate I guess. It’s wonderful meeting your soulmate.” Sam’s mind drifts to Lucifer against his will, to the dream of a dark motel room and blue eyes that were sad and kind and a voice that spoke to him softly about destiny. He remembers swapping stories about their siblings and how easy it was to act like he and Lucifer were friends. Then he thinks of the pit in Carthage full of bodies. People Lucifer had killed. He tries to smile at John, but it must seem strained because then John is apologising too, he didn’t realise, that was insensitive.

“No, really, it’s fine,” Sam says, gripping his beer tighter to avoid the urge to scratch his mark. “It’s not that they’re dead, it’s just…” 

“Complicated?” John supplies. Sam chuckles bitterly.

“You have no idea.”

A moment of silence passes before John stands up, excusing himself to take the garbage out. Sam starts to get up too, but John waves him away and insists. He’s John’s guest, he doesn’t have to help out - he’ll be back in just a minute. Sam nods as John leaves. He stands up, intending to follow, just to be sure, when Mary marches back into the living room with Dean in tow. 

“Is it true? Are you here because something wants to hurt me and my husband?” Mary asks him. Sam nods. “Okay, so will  _ you _ explain what’s after us? Because dancing around my questions just means I can’t be prepared.” She shoots Dean a look. Her whole posture is tense - ready for a fight. Ready to protect her family. Sam can’t help but smile a little, because the stiffness in her jaw and rigidness of her stance is just like Dean’s.

Sam doesn’t get a chance to answer, because at that moment something thumps ominously against the front window. Mary is moving towards the door in an instant, pulling a gun out of a drawer as she passes by it. Sam scrambles for the duffel bag at his feet, pulling out the angel blade and tossing it to Dean. Then they’re out the door after Mary.

There’s a crack in the glass of the front window. Below it, John sits crumpled and disorientated but still conscious. His eyes flick momentarily to Mary’s as she pushes the door wide open, and then back to the figure standing below the orange glow of the streetlight. Sam and Dean stop just behind Mary and look straight at Anna. She doesn’t look surprised to see them. Mary has a gun in her hand that she points straight at Anna’s face. Beside her, Dean pulls the angel blade up to glint in the light. Anna looks between them and takes a step forward. 

Mary fires the gun. Anna swipes her hand to the side, and the bullet swerves away and embeds itself in a nearby car. John hisses and Mary looks momentarily shocked. But she soon recovers, darting forward before either brother can stop her. Dean runs after her, angel blade in hand and a curse on his breath. Anna throws Mary to the pavement, and ducks to avoid the blade. She’s distracted - Sam uses the knife in his hand to slice his palm and draw up the sigil on the door. He hears the clatter of the blade falling on concrete, and turns to see Dean sprawled on the ground beside Mary. Anna looks up at Sam, her eyes widening as she sees the sigil on the door. He slams his palm down on the wood and with a flash of light, she’s gone. 

They take the news better than expected. It’s not the full story - and from the look she shoots Sam and Dean, Mary knows it - but the fact that the thing hunting them is an angel will have to be enough for now. They can’t stay here, not with Anna on their trail. John doesn’t say much except offer to drive when Mary suggests they hide out in an old Campbell safehouse. The wardings probably won’t do much against an angel, but the change in location might buy them some time.

The air in the safehouse is almost unbearably musty and they leave footprints in a thin layer of dust as they walk through the hallways. John looks out of his depth as Dean opens the duffel bag and produces the holy oil, but he has a familiar determined glint in his eye as he asks Sam to show him how to put up the sigils. After they leave the room, Dean turns to Mary and shows her how to use the holy oil. It doesn’t take long, she’s a quick learner and it’s a fairly straightforward task, and soon they find themselves standing in an uneasy silence.

“Okay. We’ve got a minute. Why does an angel want me dead?” She asks - then cuts Dean off before he can speak. “And don’t try to lie to me, or dance around the truth. Because I’ll walk right out that door.” Dean doesn’t doubt it. So he relents. 

“I’m your son. I know it’s hard to believe but… Our names are Dean and Sam  _ Winchester.  _ We're your sons, ” Dean says, feeling his throat close up. Mary shoots him a disbelieving look. From the corner of his eye, Dean can see the way Sam's shoulders are hunched and he's staring at the floor rather than their mother. “We’re named after your parents. And, uh, when I would get sick, you’d make me tomato-rice soup, because that's what your mom made you. And instead of a lullaby, you would sing ‘Hey Jude’, because that's your favourite Beatles song.” His voice cracks a little. Mary shakes her head, tears silently falling down her cheeks. 

“No… I don’t believe it. No…” she whispers. Dean feels his own eyes sting, and blinks hard.

“You see, this thing - it’s not after you and John really. It’s about me and Sam,” he says, jerking his left sleeve up. Mary looks at his mark, her eyes darting over the unfamiliar letters. “This mark? It’s in Enochian. Angelic language for _Michael_. As in the archangel. Sam and I are stuck in the middle of something much bigger than any of us-” 

“And when this is over, you have to leave John,” Sam says, his lips drawn into a tight line. “Because if we’re never born, then…” 

“No. I can’t,” she says. Dean starts to speak but she cuts him off, a haunted look in her eyes. “I  _ can’t _ . It’s too late. I’m already pregnant.” 

John’s yelling from across the house makes them all jerk into motion, Mary quickly wiping her eyes just before he enters the room. The sigils are gone, and at some point during their conversation, so has the holy oil. They’re defenceless. 

Anna and a younger - but still just as much of an asshole - version of Uriel appear with a flutter of wings, each with a blade in hand. The angels may be outnumbered, but there’s only one angel blade between the four humans and without Cas, things aren’t looking good. Uriel throws John through the window carelessly and grabs Dean, shoving his head into a wall. He hears Sam yell, and tries to see what’s going on - Mary limping to her feet, Sam on the floor, Anna’s blade stained red. Oh god, Sam isn’t moving, he isn’t breathing -  **_  
_ **

“Anna,” John says. Except it isn’t John. Dean knows exactly who’s speaking, because there’s suddenly a shooting ache in his left forearm, right where his mark is. Uriel immediately drops Dean, who clutches at his arm. Some ancient feeling in his chest tells him to reach out to that voice. But something else (years of hunting instincts perhaps, or even just good old human fear) tells him to run, run away and never look back. Uriel disappears. Dean turns around slowly, his head still spinning.

Michael places a hand on Anna’s shoulder. Her eyes go wide with fear for a moment before light bursts out from behind their sockets. Dean has to look away, and when he turns back it’s as if she’s never existed at all. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mary make an aborted attempt to raise her gun, caught between her instinct to ‘shoot first or you may not be around to ask questions later’ and the fact that the thing looking at her is her soulmate. Michael reaches out a hand, quietly hushing her as he does so. His fingers brush her forehead and she crumples to the ground unconscious. He turns to Dean, looking him up and down, assessing. It makes Dean’s skin crawl. “Well, I’d say this conversation is long overdue, don’t you?” 

“We’re not talking until you fix my brother,” Dean spits, glancing over at where Sam is crumpled on the ground, a dark trail of blood slowly travelling down the tile grout around him. Then he turns back to Michael, looking him up and down. “And how the hell did you possess my dad anyway?”

“I will fix your darling Sammy once we have spoken,” Michael says in the cool tone of someone who expects to have his orders obeyed. “I told your father I could save his wife and he said yes. You are my true vessel, but you aren’t the only one. The bloodline stretches all the way back to Cain and Abel. It’s in your blood.” 

“Well then, why the hell are you here? You know I’m not gonna say yes,” Dean shoots back. The burning in his arm is fading, but he can’t quite unclench his fist yet. Michael tilts his head thoughtfully. It almost reminds him of Cas, but there’s something artificial about Michael’s movements, as if it’s a calculated attempt to appear more human.

“No, Dean. You  _ will _ say yes because it is what was Written,” Michael replies with an air of greatness that makes the capital _'W'_ almost audible. It would probably be effective, if he didn’t want to steal Dean’s body to be his skin suit. “Lucifer defied our father and he betrayed me. I don’t want this anymore than you would want to kill Sam, but it must be done. It is the Divine Plan.” Dean lets out a snort.

“Oh, I get it. You’ve got beef with your brother. But ‘divine plan’? You seriously expect me to believe that? Get some therapy, don’t take it out on my planet!” he spits. Michael shifts slightly, and the hairs on Dean’s neck stand up on end. He’s suddenly aware of a sensation of some pressure he can’t quite process bearing down on him. But he doesn’t back down. And then Michael sighs, and the feeling is gone. 

“You’re wrong. I don’t want this but it is God’s will. I will fulfil my role because I am a good son. And you’re going to do the same, and say yes.” Michael isn’t even trying to convince him, too certain of himself and the future God has planned. A wave of panic hits Dean abruptly because fuck, they really are trying to stop God-with-a-capital-G’s plan, aren’t they? But he can’t - won’t - give in.

“You son of a bitch,” he says weakly. Michael’s upper lip curls like he’s watching a disobedient child throw an unwarranted tantrum. 

“Oh, buck up. You’ll play your role in the Plan, and once Heaven wins, I won’t leave you a drooling mess once I’m done wearing you like my brothers would. In fact, I’ll even do you a favour.” The corner of Michael’s mouth twitches and Dean feels his stomach turn. “Well, your mother a favour, anyway. I’ll scrub her mind and give her the peaceful life she wanted.” Dean’s blood runs cold.

“No, you can’t, she’s gonna walk right into that nursery!” He tries to lunge forward, but his feet won’t budge from the ground. He tries again, becoming frantic the closer Michael gets to his mother. 

He presses his fingers to her forehead, and there's a momentary flash of white light. Dean stills. Nothing will change. His mom is going to die. Michael turns to Sam next, and snaps his fingers. Dean sees his brother’s chest heave air into it, before he’s gone, presumably sent back to their correct time. Michael’s eyes meet his, and Dean shoots him the best glare he can muster. Michael looks at him with the kind of indifference only something millennia old could manage.

“I’ll see you soon, Dean,” Michael says. 

And then Dean’s gone. 

He stumbles a little, thrown off balance by being launched through time. He hears Sam call his name, and the motel walls around him swim a little before Sam grabs his shoulders to hold him steady. He looks around, his stomach dropping. There’s no sign of Cas.

For the next hour they wait in the motel room, Dean pacing back and forth and Sam attempting to find any indicators of Cas’ presence in the past through old newspaper archives. The feeling of guilt won’t stop twisting around in Dean’s stomach. It’s his fault. If he had just trusted Cas to deal with Anna… 

“Cas!” Sam says, pushing his laptop off his knees. Dean whirls around, and there’s a momentary flood of relief as he sees Cas there, in front of him, alive. But the feeling is soon gone as he takes in the state of Cas’ body, leaning on the door for support and with a thin trail of blood coming from the corner of his mouth. Dean’s at his side in an instant, pulling an arm over one shoulder and guiding the angel to lie down on his bed - Sam’s being covered in papers and his laptop. Sam appears by his side with a medkit, but Dean takes it from his hands. He can feel Sam’s eyes on him as he unzips it. 

“It’s my fault he’s messed up like this, okay? So the least I can do is take care of him,” he says. Sam watches him for a moment longer, and then sighs. 

“Okay. Fine,” he agrees. “I’ll go and get us something to eat, but call me if he wakes up, or if he gets worse, alright?” Dean nods. He watches Sam go, and then gets up to lock the door behind him. 

Cas’ breath is coming out in long, slow wheezes that make Dean’s stomach knot. But it’s steady, at least, so he carefully props Cas’ head up and loosens his tie. He’s unresponsive as Dean makes sure he’s as comfortable as is possible in their cheap motel room. Cas doesn’t have many visible wounds besides a few breaks in his skin on his face that look disturbingly like much smaller versions of the ones that were on Lucifer’s vessel. Jesus, how hard was it for him to pull himself back through time like that? 

Dean doesn’t want to dwell on it, so he pulls the chair from the corner of the room over to beside the bed and sits down. He balances the first aid kit on his knee and pulls out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a rag. His eyes flutter for half a second at the sting of disinfectant when Dean starts dressing the wounds and Dean freezes. 

“Cas?” He asks. No response. Dean sighs, and works his way from Cas’ jaw to cheek to forehead. Sometimes, it’s hard to remember that Cas is an angel in a vessel. Not that it makes a difference, now that Jimmy’s soul is in Heaven, Dean supposes. He tilts Cas’ head towards him so that he can clean the wounds on the other side of his face. He lets his other hand rest on Cas’ chin as he works. 

It doesn’t take long to finish taking care of the wounds, and then Dean’s at a loss of what to do. He slumps back in the chair, watching Cas’ chest move up and down. He seems to be breathing more deeply now, more like he’s sleeping than unconscious. It makes him relax a little bit. He yawns, realising suddenly how tired he is. Cas’ hand twitches at his side and before he quite knows why, Dean finds himself reaching out and holding it. Cas’ hand stills. Dean smiles. 

A memory drifts to the front of his mind of a conversation with an entirely different version of Castiel in a car as they sped towards their graves. He wonders what his name might look like on Cas’ forearm. He squeezes the hand in his a little tighter, feeling the callouses on the angel’s palm. 

Dean won’t remember falling asleep in the chair when he wakes up the next morning, but Sam will remember the sight of his brother, hunched at his angel’s bedside with a first aid kit on his knee and a hand pressed into Cas’ own. Sam smiles. He eats his food, places a blanket over his brother, careful not to disturb him or Cas in the process, and climbs into bed himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next one is where the tag 'putting canon in a blender' really starts to come into play.
> 
> Fun Fic Fact: This is the first chapter written after I finished all my exams! I haven't graduated yet but I'm technically done with school :)
> 
> Thank you, as always, to Kaye for always giving me feedback and putting up with me only writing once in a blue moon.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a line in this chapter about the Fates assigning soulmarks in this chapter. In the Deep Lore™ of this fic, when God invented soulmarks for whatever reason (probably the drama knowing Chuck), he commanded the Fates to oversee the process. If you want a more in depth infodump on soulmarks in this universe, message me on tumblr (@tallsadsam)

Sam - mercifully - doesn’t mention Dean and Cas’ spontaneous hand holding in the morning. But he does shoot Dean a meaningful look that Dean decides to  _ ignore _ . It takes them a lot of careful maneuvering to bundle the angel into the back of the Impala. They really ought to take him to the hospital but Cas is an angel - a doctor could hardly diagnose him with time travel sickness. Bobby’s is the next best thing. 

Cas doesn’t wake up for another two days. 

Dean’s not in the room when it happens, he’s researching with Sam and Bobby in the library. There’s an ominous thump above them and Sam and Dean are on their feet in seconds, each with a gun in hand and moving silently up the old wood stairs that would creak were they less familiar with the house. They clear the rooms, reaching Cas’. When they push the door open to a disorientated angel stumbling towards the door, Sam sighs. Dean enters the room, and Sam watches his brother guide the angel back into the bed before making a quiet exit to tell Bobby that everything’s fine.

“Shit, Cas,” Dean says, looking at the dark circles around the angel’s eyes as he helps him back into the bed he’d attempted to climb out of once he’d woken up. “I’m sorry man-” Cas shakes his head.

“No Dean. Insisting that I take you back was utterly reckless. But I am far older than you. It was ultimately my decision.” Cas hesitates for a moment, brow furrowing as he searches for the right words, “And it is understandable. You care for your family deeply and you wanted to protect them. Your irrational behaviour was… human.” Dean laughs. 

“Well I can’t tell if that was meant to be a compliment or insult,” he says. Cas’ eyes crinkle at the edges as he smiles slowly. The movement makes the skin around burn marks on his face pull tight, and Dean’s smile falls. “I really am sorry, Cas. You were out like a light when we found you and- and there were,  _ are _ burns on your vessel.” Cas reaches a hand up to his face and tentatively touches on of the burns as if he’s only just noticed them. 

“Dragging myself through time like that whilst cut off from the host was… Difficult. If I were to have to make a journey to the past again, I’m not sure I would return as angel.” Cas swallows, a nervous gesture Dean’s never seen him make before. “I think I would Fall.” Dean’s stomach drops in his gut. 

“Cas, I-” 

“And the strangest part is… I don’t think I would mind. I am going against my superiors’ wishes, against The Plan, cut off from the host, and I don’t mind,” the angel says. There’s a note of disbelief in his voice as if the absurdity of it surprises even him. He pauses to consider something for a long moment. Dean waits. “Whilst I do not trust Lucifer’s words, he told me that in another timeline, I was human. I was human because I stayed with you, even after Lucifer had won. And whilst I doubt his words, I don’t think I would mind falling if I would remain by your side.” Dean stops breathing for a moment, unsure of what to say or do or how to respond. He almost wants to run, needs time to process the fact that not only does Cas  _ know  _ about the other timeline, but that he’s prepared to Fall the same way. For Dean. 

But Cas is watching his face with a wary gaze like he’s preparing himself for a rejection, and Dean knows he can’t just abandon his angel because he doesn’t know how to talk about his feelings. So he takes a deep breath, and sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches out and gently picks up Cas’ arm and guides it to rest on his shoulder over the handprint he left there. The angel’s eyes go wide.

“Cas I… I owe you my life, man. You’re my- my friend,” he says, resting his other hand on Cas’ on his shoulder. Friend. The word feels too small somehow, like there’s so much more he wants to say but doesn’t have the vocabulary for. 

“You have the purest soul I have ever seen, Dean. And to think that in another world that soul could be my other half is-” Cas cuts himself off and Dean’s stomach flips like it used to when he got crushes in middle school. “I may not be particularly useful in this condition but I will do whatever I can for you.” Dean pulls his hand away and rubs his face. Cas withdraws his own arm in turn, and a feeling of frustration bubbles up in Dean’s chest. 

“Damn it Cas, don’t- don’t put me on a pedestal when we both know I’ve got a hell of a lot of baggage and - and you’re a person too.” Cas tilts his head to the side like he doesn’t quite follow. Dean sighs. “You don’t have to be  _ useful _ to me, or Sam or anyone. I mean sure, angel mojo is helpful but humans have been hunting for I don’t know how long without it. We - _ I _ \- don’t just want you to stay around because you’re an asset. You’re important to me because you’re  _ Cas _ . We don’t care for people because of what they can do for us, we care about them because people matter.” Cas smiles warmly, and it fills his whole face. Dean feels his frustration fade a little.

“I watched your species for millennia as you fought and killed each other. I saw you cherish each other too, the way you would find your soulmates and such joy with them, or care for complete strangers or the other animals of your planet. Your species has always been so volatile,” Cas says and Dean finds himself struck again by how  _ old _ Cas is, older than he can comprehend as Cas sits in a creaky bed in Bobby’s house wearing a wrinkled shirt. Cas pauses, running his tongue across his lips as he thinks. “Really though, none of it mattered to me. Nothing mattered except The Plan and my orders until I met you - not when I pulled you out of Hell but  _ met  _ you. And then your brother, and Bobby, and Jo and Ellen. You show me everyday  _ why _ humanity should be saved. And so when Lucifer told me that I was human, that we were soulmates in another timeline, I wasn’t angry or disgusted at myself for falling. I was happy, because humanity is… It’s a gift.” 

Dean just smiles. Cas reaches out a hand, and he places his own on top. They sit like that as Dean fills Cas in on what had happened with Michael and their parents. When Dean hesitates, stumbles with his words as he describes how he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t save them, Cas threads their fingers together and smiles reassuringly. Once he’s finished filling Cas in, Dean falls silent. He considers how close they are, Cas sitting up in bed, Dean on a chair beside him. 

Their hands threaded together.

His eyes drift to Cas’ lips. He swallows nervously as he leans forward, unsure of himself. Cas watches him, and it occurs to Dean that Cas might not actually know how kissing works. The angel’s blue, blue eyes meet his, and then slowly drift shut. Dean presses their lips together. Dean feels his stomach flip, and he feels like a kid having his first kiss again. Cas isn’t responsive, but he doesn’t freeze up either, seeming content just to stay there. But Dean begins to feel nervous, and he pulls back. Cas’ eyes open slowly, and there’s a confused furrow in his brow even as his lips - his lips that Dean just  _ kissed _ , holy shit - twitch into a smile. 

“Was, uh, was that okay?” Dean asks. Cas’ smile widens.

“Yes, it was,” the angel says. Dean nods, looking down at his shoes. He feels nervous about this like he hasn’t in a long time. He considers getting up, making some excuse and just burying his feelings and forgetting he just  _ kissed an angel _ \- But Cas gently squeezes their linked hands as he leans back into his pillow. There’s a ghost of a smile still on his face as his eyes drift shut again and Dean doesn’t have it in him to move until Sam knocks on the door, a bottle of water for Cas in one hand and a bottle of beer for Dean in the other. 

“Thank you Sam,” Cas says, and offers Sam a small smile. Sam seems caught off guard for a moment, but then he grins at Cas and nods.

Cas’ smile abruptly falls into a grimace and his eyes seem to glaze over for a moment. Dean grabs him by the shoulders and calls his name, which seems to jolt the angel back into awareness. 

“Something’s happening,” he says. “I will investigate.” The weight in Dean’s hands is suddenly gone, and the bed beside him empty. Dean curses, his stomach churning at the thought of Cas zapping somewhere after he’d so nearly gotten stuck in the past. 

He doesn’t have long to worry, because by the time they’ve gone downstairs and Sam and Bobby have begun theorising where the angel might be, Cas is there in front of them again, with a body slung over his shoulder. Dean lets out a deep breath as Sam takes the body off Cas. He quickly asks Cas if he’s okay, and the angel nods, swaying on his feet a little. They turn back to Sam, who’s placed the man onto the bed that they’d put in the office for Bobby to sleep on now that he couldn’t get up the stairs alone.

“Shit,” Sam says as Dean comes to stand beside him. “That’s our brother.” Adam’s face is covered in dirt and grime, but it’s still clearly him. Dean’s eyes go wide. 

“Angels resurrected him - which means they will be looking for him,” Cas says, stepping between Sam and Dean and placing a hand on Adam’s chest. Adam jolts at the pain of the sigil being branded into his ribs, his eyes flying open. He’s on his feet in an instant, looking wildy around the room like he has no idea where he is. 

“It’s okay, just relax, you’re safe,” Sam says in his best soothing voice. Adam looks at him like he’s never seen Sam before. So no memory then. “I know this may be hard to believe but I’m your brother. So is Dean.” He gestures towards his brother. Adam seems to regain some composure then, and turns to study Sam’s face again. 

“That makes you Sam then. I know who you are, the angels warned me about you guys,” Adam says. Cas takes half a step forward, his head tilted slightly to the side. Adam watches him nervously for a minute before he stands a little taller. “Where the hell is Zachariah?” He asks, voice stronger and more assertive now. 

“Hey, settle down, okay? Why don’t you just tell us everything?” Dean says. He pulls a chair from the table behind him and sits down casually. It makes a little of the tension go out of Adam’s shoulders, something that Sam must notice too, because then he leans back against the table beside Dean. If Adam tried anything stupid they’d both be on their feet in an instant, but the personal space makes Adam relax a little more. 

“Well, I was dead… and in Heaven,” he says, sitting back down. “And I was at my prom making out with this girl when these, uh, angels popped up out of nowhere and told me I was ‘chosen’.” Sam and Dean share a look. 

“Chosen for what?” Dean asks. Adam grins.

“Me and some archangel are gonna kill the Devil,” he says. A cold feeling runs down Sam’s spine. “Michael, I think his name is. I’m his sword or vessel or something, I don’t know. But who am I to mess with destiny, right?” As he talks, Adam pulls up his sleeve and angles his forearm for them to see. Dean goes still. 

“No, that’s… that’s not possible,” he says. Because Dean  _ knows _ that mark - has spent years studying the curve of inhuman letters in an attempt to understand their meaning from  _ his own arm _ . 

“I know - it’s weird that it would just appear after they brought me back, but what the hell do I know about resurrection?” Adam says, squinting at his mark. 

“No,” Dean says again, “That’s - that’s  _ my _ mark.  _ I’m  _ meant to be Michael’s vessel.” Adam shoots him a disbelieving look, so Dean takes a deep breath and begins rolling up his own sleeve. 

Adam looks at it, then back at his own, then just sits there for a while with a confused look on his face. Dean gets it - he feels just as confused. Why the hell were they after Adam now? And what the hell is up with his mark? He shoots Cas a look. 

“It’s possible that the angels are moving on from you, Dean. He is John Winchester’s bloodline, and Sam’s brother. He is not a True Vessel, but he could be  _ a _ Vessel,” Cas says. He studies the mark on Adam’s arm critically. “As for the mark, well, with all the powers in Heaven this would be quite simple.”

“Can you remove it or fix it or something?” Sam asks. Adam draws his arm back. Cas doesn’t notice, furrowing his brow as he thinks. “I don’t think so. Zachariah has been very thorough - it is as if this mark has always been there. It’s a trick of course, Dean  _ is _ the Michael sword, but the mark is not superficial. It seems the Fates have assigned his new mark.”

“Listen, I have no idea what you guys are talking about- but I have a thing to get to, so…” Adam says, standing up and attempting to shuffle past Castiel. The angel tilts his head to the side and offers Adam one of those looks that Dean will admit intimidated him when he first met the angel. It’s kind of sexy - not that that’s important right now. 

“Woah, hey, no,” Sam says, gesturing Adam back towards the bed. “Sit down, okay? Just listen. The angels are lying to you. They’re full of crap.” Adam snorts. 

“I don’t think so. They’re  _ angels _ . And they warned me that  _ you  _ would lie to me. Who do you think I’m gonna trust?” 

“Look, Adam, I know you don’t know me,” Sam shoots back, “But doesn’t it seem weird that Dean has the same mark as you? I’m begging you, even if you don’t believe us, just give us some time. We’re working on a plan to stop this whole thing without any angel battle - that way, it doesn’t even matter who’s Michael’s vessel because he won’t need one. We can find a way to stop this where nobody has to die.”

“Except Lucifer,” Dean chips in. Sam turns and sees his brother is watching him, not Adam. He nods his head jerkily.

“Right,” he agrees weakly. A shadow of disbelief passes over Dean’s face for a moment, but he hides it again as he turns back to Adam. After a minute, Adam lets out a defeated sigh and slumps back down onto the bed in defeat. They’ve got time.

Within an hour, Adam’s fallen asleep again. They quietly agree not to let him be alone - just in case he tries to make a break for it. Cas mentions leaving him in Bobby’s panic room but Sam firmly says no. After being locked in there while he went cold turkey from the demon blood, the thought of trapping someone else in there makes his skin crawl. So Bobby takes charge, dumping a few heavy tombes onto his desk to read. From his position he can keep an eye on the kid, make sure he doesn’t try anything stupid or get himself hurt wandering around the house that’s stashed with almost as many weapons as books. 

The plan works for a few hours, until Bobby turns his back to pick up a book and Adam is gone before he looks back around. They search the house and the yard, but it’s clear the kid’s gone. Cas tells them he’ll search in locations he thinks the angels could have taken him, despite Dean’s protests. He’ll be fine, he tells them. Travelling across a country is simple work in comparison to moving through time. It’s not a comment directed at him in anyway, but something guilty and worried still worms away inside Dean’s chest. 

“Hey,” Sam says, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He’s got that earnest puppy dog look on his face that he normally reserves for people who’ve just watched a werewolf eat their girlfriend. “Cas will be fine. We’ll get Adam back and then we’ll figure out a way to stop this.” Dean nods jerkily. 

Of course, the whole thing is a trap. Once Cas expels all the angels from the vicinity including himself, it’s all too easy for Dean to slip into the room where Adam’s being held and Zachariah is waiting. There’s blood dripping down Adam’s chin and he looks terrified of Zachariah as he mutters he’s sorry to Dean. Sam follows after him, quietly drawing a sigil on the wall as Zachariah monologues about the deal of the millennia and Winchester idiocy. Dean lets himself savour the look on his face when he sees Sam’s hand hovering over the sigil.

They make it halfway to the door before the room begins shaking. There’s a high pitched ringing as the room glows bright white and Dean  _ knows _ it’s Michael, he’s here, he’s come for Dean and his soulmark burns and Sam is grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him out of the door and the noise turns into a roar turns into an indescribable wave of sound that says-

**_“DEAN WINCHESTER.”_ **

And then they’re out the door, and Sam looks over his shoulder to see the dark shadow of Adam running towards them. He sees the look of terror on his brother’s face, right before the door slams shut, and Adam is gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fic Facts: I mentally abbreviate the title to ASFES, which my brain pronounces as 'ass fez'. Do with that what you will.  
> Thank you for commenting and reading!! And as always thanks to Kaye to listens to me rant and rave about the philosophical metaphysics of gods in the Supernatural universe :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! I'm on tumblr as @tallsadsam so feel free to message me there (before the website implodes...)  
> Thanks always to Kaye, my absolutely amazing beta reader who deserves the world


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